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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

The best way to be cursed six ways from Sunday was to ignore the burial rites of the dead. This was the most universal truth of the universe. You did not disrespect the Spirits, you did not disrespect the dead, you did not trust the Spirits.

However, like oil in water, something was in La’s waters that shouldn’t be there. Wrapping it in Their consciousness, La tilted a metaphysical head at the warm droplet within Their ocean, boiling the water around it. An extinguishing flame. Peering a bit closer with eyes that didn’t exist, but operated just the same, La poked at the strings of fate surrounding it. A reverb shuddered through the world, touching La Themself. They hummed. It was not an audible, real hum, but it was a hum nonetheless.

*One of Agni’s children is here. * They pulled Tui’s consciousness towards Them, whispering the words without words. * A boy. He is…*

Tui pushed into La’s pull, and La could feel the smile indented into Tui’s unreal, aquatic face. *Interesting. The false Spirit.*

*I do not care for games.* La admonished.

*You turned it into one the moment you called me here. * At Tui’s almost words, La tutted, but the Moon continued. * A Fire, born as a spark, buried as a droplet. A Fire, either a hearth or a bomb . At the same time… both hated as a man, worshipped as a Spirit, *

The boy was fading, but slower, this time. The metaphysical had no impact on the world, so they were free to speak. Curiously, La cupped the Spark in metaphysical hands. Warmth flickered into Their being, a feeling long lost. It wasn’t the same when firebenders simply died in the Ocean’s clutches. No, not the same at all. Not the same as a firebender given a water burial rite. How interesting. How sad .

*Sad, maybe, but how funny his life could be…* Tui licked Their metaphorical lips, white scales glittering. *I have been looking for a new plaything.*

*Hm. * La tilted Their head again. * Yes. But Agni won’t be happy if we borrow what is His.*

Tui bared sharp teeth, this time more real than theoretical. They always were better at the physical . * Think of how the world will suffer without the little Spark.* Tui pushed an image of blue arrows into La’s mind, and They shrugged.

*The world has been warring for years. * La said, impassively. * And it will war for many more.*

*How about we ask Agni, then? I’m sure He won’t mind being awoken early…* A metaphysical smirk from Them. Tui shifted in the water, pushing outwards. La did not pull. A grumble sounded, and they switched. La pulled, Tui did not push.

The heat that hit the Ocean was not like that of the little Spark. It boiled all of La, and They struggled to keep a firm grip on the corporal form They’d maintained for so long. Reality flickered, after all, what was reality if not the whims of the Spirits? Now, a hot, searing Flame flickered in the middle of two very physical fish. 

*Moon, Ocean. * The Flame spoke, Agni’s rumbling voice heard but not heard. The physical was unnecessary with the spirits, especially Agni, with no form to speak of but His element. * You have something of Mine. Failed, yes, but Mine nonetheless.*

*The Spark is Mine too. Blessed in Water.*

*Born in Fire. * Agni countered, and La blinked impassively, still circling the flame. * However, I will concede that You lay claim to part of the soul.*

La hummed. This was Heard, and that was a statement in and of itself. *He is important to the World Spirit. The future.*

*Then the World Spirit should not have left him there. * Agni glowered metaphysically, sparked corporeally. * Do not think that I will allow You to keep him.*

*I do not care.* La impressed the idea of a shrug into the world and the energies around Them. 

*Fire is thriving. * Agni’s energy shuddered, opposing the idea He just pressed into the Water Spirits. * Why should I help the World Spirit, who left the Spark to burn out?*

*Fire may be thriving , but not in the way You planned.* Tui whispered into Agni’s ear, sending bubbles cascading over the flame.

*And how would You know that, Trickster?*

Tui chuckled. *Through My tricks , how else?*

Agni did not respond, and instead turned His attention to the dimming soul, barely an ember left. Tenderness exuded from the Flame, longing to claim the lost Spark as one of His. A soft swirl of heat buoyed the soul for a bit longer, hopefully comforting the lost soul in the searing cold. So marred. Agni seethed, and La could feel the thoughts. How dare they turn Fire against Mine?

*He is a failed prince, a drowned Spark. Why do You wish to keep him?* Metaphysically, Agni spoke, only to view Tui’s lazy curl around the spark, and La’s impassive smile. 

*I do not want him, but he is Mine, he is Yours. * La pulled the Spark from Tui’s orbit to settle between the energies. * He must live, he must die. So is fate.*

*So is fate.* Agni echoed, a solemn tone ringing through His energy. 

*He must die, yes? * Tui pushed the idea into Them, reverberating to the core. * But what part of him must pass?*

*The body or the soul. * La spoke, understanding swirling through the Ocean. * What is being?*

*What makes the destiny? * Agni asked, still solemn. * What changes the One?*

La shrugged; They were never much enamored with the game. *That question is for the Spark.*

*And so is decided?* Tui pushed, La pulled, the metaphysical swirling energies until the Question echoed through the stars. 

Agni pulsed with finality, breathing warmth into the swirling energy before him. *And so is fate.* 

The Spark was but a speck but basked in energy, it was a bonfire.

*Greet him well.* Agni swirled, blinking away to the metaphysical.

————————————

Zuko had been unable to move, covered in snow. 

That was a stupid move, fighting a waterbender surrounded by snow, already weak from cold. The Avatar was gone. Of course. The least Zuko could do was make a flame to warm himself. But he couldn’t. It was freezing. He was fading, fast. The sky is so blue. His mind supplied, useless as a match in a snowstorm. The world darkened, and he was gone.

The world was dark blue. Was he in the ocean?

No. Not the ocean. He was in the Ocean.

He knew the Ocean’s name, not by way of knowing, but by the ways knowledge is imparted in the Dream Realm. Known, but unknown. Heavy knowledge that sits heavy in the back of the mind, with the self being unaware of the weight. 

La did not care about him, he knew that much, but They did not not care. They just wouldn’t grieve for his death, only sigh and murmur in Their waves, a soft I told you so . 

The Moon—Tui, his unknowing mind whispered—did care, but maybe for all the wrong reasons. It was not good to be Known by a Spirit, not one so worshipped for chaos. But Tui did care, in the way a gambler cared for their chosen horse. The regard only lasted as long as the race. 

Zuko much prefered Agni, His affection made obvious in Zuko’s Internal Flame, which comforted him every morning, and wished him well every evening.

But one did not portray such preferences to the Spirits. *Brr, you look like an icicle! Not far off, I suppose. Wish Fire was here to greet you?* Tui pushed, a sensation not at all like hearing. Zuko flinched.

Fine, one did not vocalise such preferences to the Spirits. “No shit.” He snarled, borrowing the word that he’d heard muttered by servants, before being scolded. Agni, Zuko was not good at communing with Spirits. He was most certainly going to be vaporised for his language.

La did not say anything, and Tui just cackled, a sound more reminiscent to waves crashing against the shore than to laughter. *Feisty little spark, are we? Funny, funny, funny.*

*No matter. * La pulled Zuko’s consciousness into Theirs, imparting the (almost) words into Zuko’s mind. * Even the sharpest dagger can be dulled by the waves.*

*Too much time. Much more fun to poke him and see him bite.* Tui did that ocean-wave-cackle again, pushing the words—or… ideas? Thoughts? Zuko didn’t know—into Zuko’s mind. 

“I’m not entertainment !” Zuko blustered, ripping himself from Their clutches, his voice even louder in front of the silence of Spirits. “And I’m not a dagger ! Where am I?!”

A flash of scales moved through the water, sparkling like silver ban, dropped into wishing wells. Then, the head of a reptilian thing appeared, snapping sharp teeth sharply in front of Zuko’s nose, sending the prince stumbling backwards in the water. * Rabid Spark.* The body of Tui writhed in the water, lengthy and serpentine, with several sets of fins, like the oars of a longboat.

“What do you want ?” Fear, and puberty, made his voice crack, sending him blushing all the way to his Inner Fire. “You are not my Spirits. Go help the savages.”

Again, Tui pushed instead of La. *Ooo-hooo. Savages? Coming from the boy meant to lead a nation full of war-mongerers?*

“They attacked first.” Zuko ground out, unsure of why he was even defending himself to this damned Spirit.

*We are not here to debate . * La pulled in Zuko’s conscious, finally interrupting. * Water may change, but humans do not.*

*Oh, do they not? * Tui flashed a fanged smile, though Their eyes were still focused on Zuko. * Why I’d wager the opposite! Really, what a fun little game the Spark is!*

“I’m not a game.” Zuko snarled, trying to lash out at the Ocean Spirit, who swirled before staying tantalisingly out of reach, like playing a game of tag with a toddler. “I’m not! ” 

*I do not care, little half-Spirit. Believe what you wish. I only hope to ask a question. * Now was the only time La imparted a smile into Zuko’s mind, more unsettling than not. * What makes the One? The body or the soul?*

“I—”

*The body or the soul?* Tui repeated snapping those jaws closer and closer to Zuko.

Ebony scales fell through the water, belonging to none, yet belonging to One. *The body or the soul?*

*The body or the soul?*

“Stop—”

*The body or the soul?*

*The body or the soul?*

The words began to swirl through Zuko’s mind, a tornado of papers, each carefully transcribed in bizarre symbols, differing on every slip, but Zuko knew what they read. Body or soul . If only he knew what they meant.

Bubbles bombarded his body, his Inner Fire itself. *The body or the soul?* La submerged him in the water, a whirlpool of paper slips and sharp drifting scales, that cut his arms to ribbons.

*The body or the soul?* Tui swallowed him whole, into a room of darkness, slips of paper rapidly landing on the floor. Zuko could not swim in paper. 

*The body or the soul?* The world asked, peering down at him with celestial eyes.

Fire burst out of Zuko’s self, his own tornado of heat and light, burning every illegible scrap of paper, until the room was dark and empty.

Empty of all.

Except one slip of paper.

Slowly, gingerly, Zuko picked it up with pale fingers, viewing the otherworldly symbols written on it. He could not read it. He knew what it meant.

Soul.

*Silly boy. And you said you weren’t a game? Welcome back to the land of the living.* This time, the not-words rumbled through the insides of Tui, where Zuko still stood with his paper slip. Yes, Tui was a betting Spirit, that much was sure, as the floor beneath him opened, and down a tunnel he went, clocks upon clocks ticking as he 

plu

met

ted.

————————————

When Zuko startled awake, he immediately started dying. Oh, fuck, not again. Choking on salt water and chunks of swirling ice, he finally managed to dislodge the intrusive things from his throat and breathe . Not that it did much good, considering he was surrounded by blue. The skies, the waters. Fuck, there was no way he appeared here , in the middle of the Agni-forsaken ocean.

His arms were already wrapped around a small block of ice, keeping him from drowning, but it was not keeping him from hypothermia or frostbite. It wasn’t even big enough for Zuko to sit on. “What’s a lost toe?” Zuko growled, teeth chattering as he held onto the ice. “Already fucked my vision and hearing.”

The Crown Prince should not scream for help, certainly not when there was likely no help to be had.

Zuko, somehow, did not have that reservation.

He let out a slew of colourful obscenities—taught to him by drunken sailors—in hopes of catching someone with a boat. At this point, he’d probably take a damn pirate ship. At least death by sword was fast .

Agni, please send someone to get me the fuck out of here. Maybe he shouldn’t be swearing in prayers. Maybe the Spirits wouldn’t care. It’s colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra. I am going to freeze to death.

Zuko paused, considering the Spirits that plagued his nightmare. Tui and La… I know Zhao is a dickwad, but I’m not. You wouldn’t’ve talked to me if I was. Why take the time to talk to me, if I was going to die immediately after?

It was cold, and Zuko was alone.

It was probably for that that Zuko had the irresistible urge to clutch his uncle in a rib-breaking hug when his uncle appeared on a Fire Nation ship.

————— time skip —————

The Avatar’s bison was right there . Wielding his swords, he stepped closer, and the bison moved away slightly. As much as the Blue Spirit mask concealed Zuko’s identity from human eyes, it did not work well for the noses of animals.

Maybe he should douse himself in perfume. That worked well enough for June’s shirshu, when the Avatar and his friends dumped the nun’s perfume all over it. “You’re mine now.” Zuko rasped, the sensation of speaking in Blue Spirit garb so foreign. He avoided it, usually, because the rasp of a teenaged prince did not strike fear into the hearts of opponents. The creak of a door sounded behind him, and Zuko whipped around, dual dao raised. “Uncle?” He could not avoid saying it, a habit more than choice.

“So, the Blue Spirit.” His uncle crossed his arms, eyebrows raised at the mask. Stroking his beard, the older man continued. “I wonder who could be behind that mask.”

Zuko sighed and pulled the laced mask off, the charade entirely abandoned. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing. What do you plan to do now that you’ve found the Avatar’s bison?” His uncle walked closer, sceptical gaze still levelled on Zuko. “Keep him locked in our new apartment? Should I go put on a pot of tea for him?”

Zuko tilted his head, before answering, ignoring his uncle’s remarks. “First I have to get him out of here.”

“And then what?!” The firm voice of his uncle echoed through the chamber, and Zuko tilted his good ear towards the door, listening for the footsteps of the Dai Li. “You never think these things through! This is exactly what happened when you captured the Avatar at the North Pole! You had him, then you had nowhere to go! If we hadn’t found you, you would’ve drowned in the North!”

“I was fine! I would’ve found a way out! I always do!” Zuko shouted, angrily clenching his hands into white fists around the daos. “I know my destiny! I know what I’m meant to do!”

“Is it your destiny, or a destiny your father has chosen for you?”

“What is the difference?!” The words were shrill and echoed through the empty chamber. The prince turned towards tha Avatar’s beast. “The Fire Lord is Agni incarnate, his determinations are my destiny! I have to do this!”

“Please, Prince Zuko, I am begging you! It is time for you to look inward and ask the big questions!” Iroh’s lips pursed, and shoulders squared. “Determine who you are! Determine what happened to you at the North! ”

Zuko whirled around again, swords slicing through the air. “Nothing happened! I am the same as I always have been!”

“A Spirit has laid its claim, nephew, a cold touch that rings through your very Fire!” The old man said, hands thrown into the air. “Water is the element of change , and you need to decide if that change is what you want!”

The exiled ex-prince screamed a broken sound that was torn from his throat, dragging through the skin like the fishhooks cast into the ocean. A clang echoed through the cavern as his dao fell the the floor, an empty thud as his mask hit. 

————————————

“You did the right thing, nephew.” His uncle spoke, softly, as Zuko ran his fingers over the carved mask, admiring the worn groves and chipped paint. “Let it go.”

The mask fell, unbidden, from his fingers into the ocean, and the Ocean ate it, savouring the taste.

When they arrived home, Iroh still beaming with pride, the world blurred. “I don’t feel right.” The words came out as a whimper. Zuko didn’t whimper. Something was wrong.

Just as his mask had, Zuko surrendered to the darkness.

————————————

Could stubbornness rip him from the Dream Realm? No, not now. Not with the tiny spark his Inner Flame had been reduced to. What is happening? Am I dying of fever? Me, a firebender?

*Not now. That honour is held by the frozen shores of La, in the North.* Something rumbled, unheard but felt, as an earthquake is known.

The tips of his forehead ached. Maybe that should’ve worried him, but it did not. Pain was a familiar friend, now. What did worry him was the scenery, a sparring ring in the middle of an auditorium, empty removed from two energies circling in the nearest seats.

He’d had this dream a hundred times before, in variations untold. Empty auditoriums, overbooked ones. A watching uncle, an oblivious one. A sad, empathetic father, an unflinching one. The one thing that remained stationary was the burning . Agni must’ve cursed him, in the way he’d revelled in the untold agony night, after night, after night.

The only comfort: Zuko had survived his branding, and he would survive a hundred more. 

*No, you may not.* Each word plucked at Zuko’s Inner Fire, playing with his soul in a similar way to how Lieutenant Jee played his pipa every night. A skilful dance of fingers over spiritual strings, the words reverberating through his being.

Reverently, Zuko looked up, knowing one should not look upon a Spirit without permission, but needing to see Agni nonetheless. He’d never met Agni, not once, but the vibrations of his Inner Fire were so familiar that Zuko recognized Him nonetheless. “Agni.” The word was a breath, an admission, his own attempt at playing his Inner Fire in patterns like the Fire Spirit’s.

Agni’s Flame encircled Zuko, warming his body and soul simultaneously. The Flames shimmered, colourless and prismatic, in the way a prism scattered light. Flame reached into Zuko’s Inner Fire and wisped along the taut energy, sending melodious, unheard sounds through Zuko’s being. *You survived, then. You may not survive now. Can a Flame survive in an Ocean? Or, in your case, a Spark in a Puddle? * At that, Zuko’s Inner Fire flared, anger rushing into his very soul. Despaired (was that despair?) the prism Flames dimmed, momentarily, and Zuko’s skin scattered into goosebumps at the loss. Seemingly recognizing this, the Flames sprung higher. He should burn, but he did not. Metaphysical . The impression of a word ghosted across Zuko’s energy, unknowable yet defined.

“I’m alive!” Zuko growled, less a surety than an unsaid prayer. 

*The soul, yes, though perhaps not for long. * Agni’s Being was against Zuko’s marred face, tracing the handprint that was melted into the skin. Zuko did not feel the Being, but knew, in an unknowing way, that it was there nonetheless. * Maybe We did not Change you enough.*

“I don’t change! I am the same I always have been! We don’t change!” 

*Hm. Learned something from La, have we? * The scar on Zuko’s face seared. * That is to be expected. You are Theirs as much as you are Mine. * The circling energies in the crowd pushed and pulled an agreement into Zuko. * Well, if Spirits do not Change, then why is Tui looking so youthful and effeminate?* Said Spirit formed into a teenaged girl, in which strips of cloth fluttered and curled around Them, as if underwater.

“I am not a Spirit!” 

*So ignorant. So naive. * La pulled Zuko’s consciousness into Them, the words washing over him, and he shivered in the cold almost-touch.

*That’s why this is such a fun little gamble. * Tui snapped at Zuko’s miniature Inner Flame. * The boy who claims to be a Spirit, the Spirit who bleeds like a boy.*

Agni’s touch held Zuko’s face again, searing. It was pain and comfort, wrapped into a little gift basket. *His chi is too crowded from the blessings. I told You to be careful.* Agni impressed a glare into Tui and La. *There is too much Water, too much Fire.*

“I am Fire!” Zuko exclaimed, the anger flaring his Inner Flame further. Tui pushed amusement into Zuko’s being, who snarled at the Moon. “I am! I do not belong to Water .”

*You agreed ! * Tui impressed, a bit playfully. * It isn’t my fault that you forgot to read the Terms and Conditions of a Chaos Spirit .*

“Agreed what?!” Zuko snarled, biting in the direction of the Moon Spirit, who giggled, like bubbles gliding over Zuko’s Inner Fire. The sound was remarkably like that of a teen girl, though Tui didn’t seem bothered. They pushed symbols into Zuko’s mind, and slips of paper fell and burned around him. Each one was the same as in Zuko’s dream. Soul.

*This is unimportant. * La flipped Their energy in the way a wave breaks nearing the shore. Tui’s energy twinkled, reminiscent of the silver scales winding through the dark Ocean. Their energy wrapped around Zuko, whispering in the way a thought is a whisper. * The boy is not a Spirit at all. It was foolish to try and recreate him.*

*That is for him to decide. * Agni burned. * And he claimed spirithood.*

“Claimed what?! What agreement?!” Zuko whirled to face the Spirits. “I do not appreciate being kept out of the loop!”

La pulled Zuko’s conscious into Theirs, dislodging him from Tui’s touch. *The question We are debating is this: would You rather live as one of Mine or die as one of His? * Agni plucked a possessive energy into Zuko’s Inner Fire, but La continued. * You agreed prior that you are your soul, not your body, so We recreated said body and sent you on your merry way. But with dual ownership of your soul, and thus dual elements, there are issues . Before, you chose your father, and thus your Fire dominated. Now that you are reconsidering, Water and Fire are warring, dousing your Inner Flame while evaporating the Water’s blessing. You will die. * Slowly but surely, Zuko’s energy was siphoned away and Zuko writhed, trying to remove himself from La’s touch. * Unless I take what is Mine, and Agni takes what is His.*

“It is neither of Yours!” Zuko exclaimed, energy kicking and squirming away from the frigid touch. “My Inner Fire is mine! You have no right to take it! It is mine!”

Tui materialised into the corporeal, a massive leviathan floating in the air. *It is yours?*

“Yes!” 

*So you admit you are a Spirit?*

“No!”

La ignored this exchange. *The soul is Mine too. * La pulled, the words pressed into Zuko’s energy. * You chose Us the moment you died in my lands.*

*He did not understand the consequences. He was born a Flame.* Agni harmonised. 

La hummed, in the way a whale song hums. *Tell him then, enlighten him. I care not.*

The world changed, a slip from dream, to metaphysical to real , but real in the way a memory was real.

Zuko, lying in the snow, fingers and lips blue, eyes locked unseeingly onto the blue sky above. The wind blew, the snow fell, Zuko’s chest did not rise. The real Zuko, the alive one, fell to his knees next to the dead Zuko, pressing interlaced hands into the dead prince’s chest, an imitation of the way he’d watched the Ba Sing Se healers resuscitate refugees in the camp.

*That does not work, not now.* Agni’s song was more melancholic now, but Zuko’s Fire flared.

“I am not dead! I am alive! I am alive !”

*You died in La’s lands, blessed by a prayer of protection from the World Spirit. A Water death, a Fire birth. * A ray of fire exploded from Zuko’s hand, as stupid as it was to attack a Fire Spirit with fire, and absorbed into Agni. * Dual ownership of a soul.*

Tui scoffed. *He lived a life of neutrality, a Spirit’s life. The Blue Spirit. * Tui giggled again. * Dead and alive, Fire Prince and outcast, Fire and Water.* 

*But We can put the world almost on track. You won’t be walking the correct footsteps, but close enough. It matters not. * La shrugged imperceptively. * You’re just a human, after all. Minimal consequences.*

Tui pushed a grin into Zuko’s mind. *Maybe not human for much longer. Or maybe never in the first place.*

*Body or soul?* La repeated, and Agni’s energy swirled, displeased.

*No tricks, Ocean, Moon. I understand that is foreign to You, but as Water represents Chaos and Change, Fire is Life and Power. He will not understand Your dual meanings. * Agni leveled His heat on Zuko. * Spirits are guides, just as humans are the guided. You have lost your way, Zuko, and you have finally realised it. It is now that you can enter a new purpose. If not, your body, warring between Water and Fire, will cease. The Blue Spirit cannot be the Fire Prince. The Avatar’s guide cannot be the Avatar’s hunter. A man cannot be soul-torn, alive and dead, hovering between, for much longer.*

“I am alive,” Zuko whispered, the words a shaky thing in the face of the metaphysical promises and ideas.

*Is that your decision?*

“Does it matter?”

Agni flared *Yes * while La pulled a * No * into his mind. Meanwhile, Tui smirked. * You did already make your choice, though, the moment you declared yourself the Blue Spirit.*

Zuko stood from where he kneeled unsteadily, lips pursed. “Is this my destiny?”

*That is up to you, little racehorse.* Tui grinned.

“I want to live.” Zuko spoke the first admission of want in years.

*Then find your own destiny.* He did not know who said it. He didn’t think it much mattered.

Zuko woke.

The world was bright, and his uncle was seated, cross-legged, beside him. Zuko felt… light, lighter than he had in years. Lighter than he had felt, even with the Avatar captured in that cave. Light. The world felt… warm, warmer than it had in years. * Uncle, * Zuko whispered, sitting up slowly. His uncle did not move. * Uncle? * After a few more moments the man stirred, and opened his eyes blearily.

Zuko tilted his head at Iroh, the slightest smile on his lips. It was minute in the way the tremble of a leaf or the beat of a heart was minute… but his uncle would notice it all the same. “Zuko?” The old man whispered, exhaustion weighing at the edges of his voice. 

* Come on, uncle. Your damned tea house is waiting. * Amusement pulled at the edges of Zuko’s barely audible voice. It was known and…

It was an inaudible voice. Known and unknown.

Zuko looked down at his own hands, horrified, as he tried to speak again. * Uncle? *

His uncle was awake, panicked and shouting for his missing nephew. If only he knew that Zuko would never return… Well, not to his knowledge. Zuko stood there, in the doorway, staring at his usually calm and organized uncle, who was checking in every room in the small apartment. “Please don’t tell me he left, Agni.” His uncle muttered fervently, eyes glassy. “We were to have a new life.”

A lump clogged Zuko’s throat, and all he wanted was to return to the damned real world . His uncle was softhearted at times, spewing unwanted proverbs at others, but, dammit, he was his uncle. It was different for Zuko to willingly yell and leave, and quite another for Zuko to be snatched from Iroh’s life entirely.

The third cardinal rule of Spirits is to never trust them. They weave words, they lied, their acts were never without selfish reason. 

And Zuko had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

His Inner Fire shifted and grumbled, smoke pooling from his nose, sparks flying from his very fingertips. He was dead, wasn’t he? Dead, because he was naive enough to believe Agni wouldn’t hate him for his crimes against the Fire Nation.

Dead, when they promised otherwise.

* Fuck You and the whole damned Spirit World! I don’t even care if You strike me, I’m already dead! Just come and finish the job, dammit! I’ll fight You and win! * Tears did not fall down Zuko’s cheeks, though he almost wished they would. Something to prove his liveliness. * If I am dishonourable, what are You?! Wasting my time, and now I’m dead! I’m dead! *

His Inner Flame was roaring, and Zuko could not calm down. Was there any point, anyway, if he couldn’t interact with his uncle again? With the world? Well, his father got his dreams…

*Tui, La, is this Your idea of a joke? Agni, do You fucking hate me? Get Your asses down here so I can—*

“Zuko?!”

His anger was immediately extinguished by the despairing man in front of him, whose aching fingers dug into the empty blankets on the floor. Empty blankets that Zuko one occupied.

He couldn’t stand to be there any longer. So he walked. To where, he didn’t know. He walked until his unreal feet ached more than his heart, and then he walked a little longer. He walked until the faces of passersby just blurred, and the world seemed to be a splotchy watercolour painting rather than reality. People ran into him, but instead of noticing a blockage, only Zuko was affected and cast to the side.

The world could affect him, but he could not affect the world.

He walked until the walls of Ba Sing Se, clambered over them and continued to walk, until it was him, alone, in a forest. He walked until the emotional baggage, over the physical, forced him to sit on a log and shove his face into his hands.

The forest was loud, but Zuko was not. He couldn’t be loud, anymore.

Like Agni, Tui, and La, the noises he made were the ideas of a noise, instead of audible ones. Quickly, he found that swears lost their potency when all you could do was imagine annoyance and overlay that meaning over “fuck”. All that time listening to sailors, gone. All that time reforming his language away from the royal, gone. All that , gone.

Zuko really needed to get better at reading the terms and conditions.

“Little Spirit… ” The words were heard and impressed, simultaneously, and Zuko spun in the direction of the voice. “ Why are you here, without your Form? ” The Snake curled down the tree, hanging off a branch in front of Zuko. “ So ineffective! So pointless.”

* I’m not a Spirit. * Zuko tried to speak the words, mouth moving, but only succeeding in sending the idea of the word towards the Snake. Anger pinched his eyebrows together, and he crossed his arms. * I’m dead. *

“Dead, maybe, but a Spirit nonetheless… as helpless as a babe… ” The Snake flicked her tongue at Zuko, tilting her head to peer closer at him. “ How does one become a Spirit from human form? It has not happened in years… ” Close enough that her tongue flicked his nose, She blinked. Snakes aren’t supposed to have eyes. Zuko thought, though nervousness was far from his mind. “ Oh, little Spirit, I am no ordinary snake. No matter, little one. Are you the Blue Spirit that had the mortal realm in such a stitch?”

* I was, once. * Zuko glowered, sparks flying from his breath. When they touched the floor, rather than burning through the grass, small flowers sprouted, unfurling delicate blue petals. Zuko pointedly ignored this. * I’m dead, now, though. *

“Hmm. ” She smiled, an unsettling movement that seemed more threatening than placating. “ Without your Form, I suppose you may as well be.”

Zuko huffed. * You keep saying that! I don’t know what you mean! Can’t a single fucking Spirit be straightforward with me? * The Snake straightened herself on the vine, relaxed look gone as she glowered at him. 

“I’d suggest a bit of grace when speaking with Spirits, young one. ” She hissed, and droplets fell from her mouth onto the trees, just missing Zuko; the places they fell fizzled and died. “ Not all are as benevolent as I. ” That statement made, she relaxed herself back onto the branch, peering at Zuko. “ Regardless, I’m not one to give away things for free. What would you give to know that, baby Spirit?”

Zuko’s mouth went dry, which was stupid because he was dead . Why did he have to worry about simple things like saliva. * What sort of a think would you expect? I’m dead, it’s not like I have wealth or belongings .* The movement of his mouth, if useless, at least comforted.

The Snake placed her head on one of her loops. “Snakes are cold-blooded things. I’ve been freezing since I came here, the silly forest too cold for me. I cannot leave yet, though. You have those sparking hands, why don’t you let me sit on your shoulders and warm me. You can bring me into Ba Sing Se too, give me a tour.”

His shoulders relaxed by a hair. * I wish I could, but I cannot hold anything. *

The Snake hissed, though she imparted an image of pondering rather than anger. “I see. ” She spoke. “ How about this, little one? I will tell you about Forms, and you will retrieve yours. Upon your honour as a Spirit, you will return and fulfil your duty.”

Resolutely, Zuko nodded, and moved closer to listen to her. “Every Spirit, even myself, was once, or still is, noncorporeal. ” She whispered, as if the very knowledge she imparted was deadly. “ The Major Spirits are fine: your Agni, for example, has enough worshippers that He can operate fine. However, there is no way to affect the world as a Minor Spirit without a corporeal form. It is impossible to even enter it without a Form, such as a mortal to possess, the preferred method, or an object to tie oneself to. Since you are here, you already have a tie, but you are too far from it, thus rendering you ghostlike. ”

* So if I find my tie— *

“You can utilise a mortal-ish body. ” She settled into the branches. “ You’ve already claimed your tie, when you were mortal. The Blue Spirit persona doesn’t exist without…” The Snake looked at him expectantly.

* My Mask? * He guessed, and was rewarded with an impressed impression. * Will that work even for a ghost? *

“Stupid boy. ” She hissed, sending emotions of annoyance, accompanied by the idea of people running into walls (stupid indeed). “ You chose this. You denied Agni and La, and chose life . Don’t be ungrateful.” 

* Ungrateful? * Zuko hissed right back, sparks flying from his mouth as tendrils of smoke whirled around his feet, as serpentine as the Snake. * At least as a traitor I was known , now I am history! I cannot even interact with my uncle! The only— * His voice faltered. * The only person who ever cared for me, outside of my mother! The Spirits clearly hate me, and you call me ungrateful for hating that I’ve now lost everything?! * He communicated all this in ideas and pictures, small memories of wanted posters and tea-loving uncles and flaming hands moving towards his face.

Zuko turned on his foot, stalking away, and the Snake was silent. Until… “Will you return?”

* I’m not a monster. * Zuko spat. The ‘unlike the Spirits’ was left unsaid.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Standing on the edge of Lake Laogai, Zuko could feel the pull. Just standing near it felt comfortable, and the world kept snapping in and out of definition. If the world was bright and airy when he first woke up… well, now the water shimmered like light on diamonds, the soft waves cutting through the air and breaking against the dock. In there, in that peaceful, stunning haven, was his Mask. He couldn’t resist throwing himself into the water, just as he couldn’t resist the pull that took him to the bottom. Zuko did not need to swim, his entire essence being pulled to the bottom of the lake. 

Maybe it is not body or soul, but body and soul

The Mask sat in the sand, undamaged and whole, unburied and glittering. Like a crown left on a pedestal, like a child left in a cradle. It was his, wholly. He was it’s, wholly. Hands brushing the wood, Zuko’s mouth twisted into a grin, imitating the Mask between his fingers. Heavy and reassuring, it felt like a missing limb. Mine was the first thought. Me was the second. Kicking off from the bottom, Zuko’s lungs burned, the surface so far away. How did he swim all the way down? Impossible. How was he to swim all the way up? Impossible. But stubbornness had always been the enemy of impossibility, and Zuko had the virtue in spades. Climbing out of the lake, Zuko perched himself in the tree and, slowly, reverently, placed the Mask over his face.

The Mask had always fit over Zuko’s face well, but now it was like a second skin. He could feel the wind, not on his face, but on the Mask, and all was right in the world. However, one could not prance around Ba Sing Se in a Blue Spirit Mask after freeing the Avatar’s bison in said Mask. It wasn’t done. He’d be killed. 

Again? Could a ghost die? If he did, would Agni and La wake him up, like They had in the North? 

What did Agni and La say… blessed in Water, by the World Spirit? Zuko could feel his skin crawl. Of course, it was the Avatar’s fault, why wouldn’t it be? Without the Avatar, Zuko probably would’ve returned to Agni and existed in the Flame. He’d have seen his mother . Annoyance gripped him, and he breathed out sharply, fire burning from his mouth and hands to scorch the tree. Briefly, Zuko panicked about possibly setting the damned tree on fire, but where the tongues of fire licked, vines curled from nowhere and the tree sprouted blue flowers, which leaned towards Zuko as sunflowers to the Sun.

Unlike before, Zuko did not ignore it this time. Instead, he moved his face closer and peered curiously. The five petals on each flower were smaller than his pinkie nail, though they did not lack in detail. Dark spirals curled from the centre of each blue petal, before becoming winding lines to the tri-pointed petal. Every petal imitated the elemental symbol for Fire, delicate and soft.

Ghost powers were weird. Carefully, Zuko removed the Mask from his face and placed it under his shirt and, with the wooden mask chaffing his skin under his shirt, Zuko made way for the Upper Ring.

However, standing in front of the Jasmine Dragon, in just his black training gear, was daunting. A closed sign rested in the window, but that wouldn’t stop Zuko, back from the dead. What would stop Zuko, however, was his strangely perceptive uncle. His uncle who had known of both Agni and La’s claim to his soul. His strangely perceptive uncle, who would most certainly know the zombified tea-server/banished prince/nephew for what he was. A ghost.

And, most certainly, his uncle would be devastated, as unable to protect Zuko as he had Lu Ten, the Prince-turned-soldier-turned-ashes. The same Lu Ten that Iroh always compared Zuko to.

And so, Zuko made the executive decision to avoid his uncle and, instead, return to the Snake. And this time, when someone bumped into him, they noticed him and glared.

————————————

“Little Spirit… ” The Snake hissed, hanging to admire the Mask on Zuko’s face. “ That’s much better, isn’t it?”

“ Ghost, not Spirit. ” Zuko said, and imparted the image of a man in mourning to get the point across. And if that man was his uncle, freshly mourning Zuko’s cousin, that was nobody’s business but his own. “And yes, thank you.”

The Snake slithered closer, bumping her snout against his Mask. “Do not thank me. This is a trade, not a charity. ” Slowly, surely, she wrapped her lengthy body around his shoulders, and Zuko sat down, lotus-style, on the floor. “ It is nice to hear another’s voice, though. The other Spirits are far too favourable of impressions and ideas.”

“I agree.” Zuko began to swirl his Inner Fire through his body, smoke curling from the mouth of his Mask. If more sparks landed in the forest, blooming beautiful tiny flowers, it was none of his business. And it was none of the Snake’s business if he peered at them for a little too long. “It would also be nice to have a name.”

“I’m inclined to think that you favour words not because you appreciate them, but because your impressions are so weak. Forget communing with humans, you can barely commune with a Spirit. ” The Snake sighed, and curled tightly around Zuko’s shoulders and—for a second—he tensed, worried that she’d given up on niceties. “ Hebiko.”

Zuko snorted. “ That just means ‘Snake’. ” At the idea, he sent thoughts of amusement into Hebiko’s head… he was definitely getting better at it.

“Exactly. Nice and descriptive, leaving no room for doubt. ” She nudged his Mask with her snout, and he felt it as clearly as he would on his skin. “ Now, pipe down, I traded for a warm seat, not for a conversation.”

“I’m Zuko.”

Hebiko snickered, unnatural eyelids closed as she warmed herself. “Suko? ‘Angry’? And you say my name is simple.”

“I’m not angry!” Zuko exclaimed, and was whacked in the ear with Hebiko’s tail. At a more moderate volume, he continued. “And it’s Zuko, not Suko.”

“Hush. ” Hebiko hissed, contented. “ You want to talk? How about this? You tell me a bit about your mortal life. I never get to speak with mortals, and the post-mortal Spirits are too old and too important to talk to me.”

Instead of shrugging, Zuko imparted the image of one, and Hebiko hissed gratefully for his stillness. “ I’m not a great storyteller. ” He warned, waiting for a nod before continuing. “ Have you seen the Fire Nation before? ” Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “ It’s a beautiful place, almost always hot and sunny, except for the summer thunderstorms. My father—the Fire Lord—would tell you that the most beautiful spot was the Royal Palace, but… ” Pause. “ I suppose the royal pond is nice, it has turtle ducks. ” He imparted an image of a fuzzy yellow turtleduck. “ But, if I was to choose anywhere, I’d say Harbour City. ”

The Snake was drifting off, but Zuko was too caught in memories to care. The impressions were too much work, so he switched to just speaking.

“My father liked to say Harbour City was for the prostitutes and the beggars, but it had a beautiful market. Stalls crammed together, built inside decrepit temples and empty grand halls. They had no use of these, so they rebuilt them. Red, orange, yellow, even pink fabric was draped across the ceilings, and the smells of spices were so strong, I guarantee they’ll stay there for years, ingrained in the stone.” Zuko sighed. He’d loved going to Harbour City with his mother but, after her death, he had no one to go with. Azula was too young and, even if she wasn’t, she was too prone to lighting merchant’s stalls aflame. The entire market would be gone with one wrong look. And his father… no shot. Zuko hadn’t been in years… it might not even be there anymore. It probably isn’t the same. Zuko thought, morosely.

But, really, was he the same anymore? If you replaced every part of the Wani , would it still be the same ship?

His uncle would tell him that the Wani was the people aboard, not the ship itself. In that way, the Wani was long gone, dismantled and disposed of.

In that way, Zuko was long gone, dissected and displayed, like the Spirit’s third-grade science project. 

Somehow, that thought disturbed and comforted him simultaneously.

————————————

The process of trimming a post-mortal Spirit of human ties was a treacherous one. One must cut off the human connections, the relationships, without destroying the Spirit’s purpose for helping humanity. After all, without a purpose, the chi would blink out.

This process was made much more difficult by the fact that the Blue Spirit was the first post-mortal Spirit Hebiko had ever met. And even more difficult by the Blue Spirit’s insistence that he wasn’t a Spirit at all, but a ghost. What an idiot. Ghosts didn’t exist , outside of Ghost Spirits, who guarded grave sites. The souls of the deceased immediately flitted away upon death to their respective holders. That much was obvious. He seemed very… new, to everything. Otherwise, he definitely wouldn’t’ve been so eager to enter an agreement with another Spirit.

However, Hebiko mulled. I do have to wonder how the Blue Spirit became as such. The touch of death is so apparent on his chi, as distinct as the fingerprints of Agni and La. He was Spirit-kissed first, that much is certain. A new body, perhaps? And upon claiming himself as the Blue Spirit and accepting his own Inner Change, he became a Spirit. Interesting. All theoretical, of course, but there isn’t much I’ve been wrong about.

She curled closer to his body, savouring the mass amounts of body heat he sent out. Ahh. The perks of knowing a Fire Spirit. Though, he is not just Fire. How odd, how interesting. I have no clue what he is. What she did know, however, was that his spiritual connection was weak. Not just weak, but faltering. His impressions were quiet and unsure, his energy pent-up and unspent. He didn’t seem to register any shrines or spiritual callings. He was likely just so disconnected from his Self that it didn’t register.

That was well-documented with youthful Spirits, such as Hebiko herself, but not with the post-mortals. They were always chosen based on their extensive spiritual connections and understandings. Otherwise, the cross over was too traumatic—supposedly. Human minds were weak, what could she say? Regardless, Zuko didn’t check any of those boxes, leaving Hebiko to wonder one thing: why? Why was he chosen above anyone else? And favoured by two Major Spirits, of opposing elements? What would bring such a thing on?

Hebiko was likely too young to understand, or too young to find out. As much as she called the Blue Spirit a ‘baby Spirit’, she was not much older herself. The original Snake Spirit? Millennia old, long and thick with age and wisdom. Hebiko? Just breaking ninety, chump numbers, especially compared to the higher Spirits. No Spirit with any sort of social standing wanted to befriend a Spirit as young as her, unless it was a contract in which Hebiko was a subordinate. Maybe if she was powerful, or unique, she’d have a better chance. But being one of thousands of Snake Spirits, as well as young and inexperienced? She was a death warrant to an elder Spirit’s social standing. And the ruining of a reputation, especially at such a pivotal time in the Spirit World? Literal annihilation. 

And there was something happening in the Spirit World, Hebiko was certain of it. Major Spirits did not just make post-mortal Spirits willy-nilly. That sort of thing was done for a reason. And Hebiko wanted to know what it was. And if the Blue Spirit racked up some debt that he had to repay to her… well, what a shame that would be for him.

So, if Hebiko wanted even a shot at making some alliances (and maybe gaining some subordinates), she needed someone unaware of the hierarchy as a whole, while also being powerful enough that Hebiko’s status was bolstered. Also, as a bonus, it’d be nice if they had some form of impartial interest in the mortal realm, but not enough to become too entrenched in the silly politics of mortals. Zuko, with his petty mortal grievances—and new Spirit status—seemed the perfect candidate. 

If not for his undying purpose of catching the Avatar (but that seemed to have cooled exponentially, so… win?), and his pointless ties to his uncle and his nation. However, after snipping off the uncle issue , Zuko would probably be open to entering a teensy-weensy contract. She’d help him navigate the Spirit World and he wouldn’t leave her side.

Ally achieved. 

Easy enough.

————————————

His nephew was gone. Again. 

The foolish boy hadn’t gone for the Avatar, certainly, as Iroh had seen the bison flying away from the city. He hadn’t rejoined Jet, as Zuko’s dual dao were still slotted in the closet. And he certainly wasn’t in the tea shoppe, where Iroh was labouring to man the register, serve, and brew tea all at once . Now, Iroh did fancy himself something of a teacrafting expert, but even experts would mess up when they were so overloaded.

With a deep breath, particular to avoid the firebreathing that he’d been named for, Iroh began to move towards the next table.

The woman opened her mouth, and Iroh turned to her before being interrupted. “A red-blooded nephew for her,” The man said to him, in lieu of a hello. 

“Ah, a rarer choice.” Iroh smiled kindly at the young woman, who was tapping her fingers on the table, clearly a nervous habit, while blinking uncertainly at the man. “Are you a fan of bitter blends, my dear?”

Her brown eyes snapped to his, and she relaxed a smidge, moving her nervous hands to her hair, styled in two perfect buns on the side of her head. She seemed to adjust nonexistent flyaways, to which Iroh patiently waited for her response. “Yes, I find that…” The woman’s eyes snapped to the man before returning to Iroh. “Well, I think sweetness just hides the true nature of the tea.”

“Sweetness is meant to compliment a brew, not disguise it. Perhaps you are drinking the wrong sort of teas, if they must use sugar to draw you in.” Iroh hummed. “You are much like my nephew, in that way. Happiness is not always found on the road of suffering.”

“Hm.” The woman brushed the bangs out of her face, now. “Yes, perhaps that is so.” She looked at Iroh, finally paused her fidgeting, and hummed. “Thank you. I will think on that. For now, though, I will keep the red-blooded nephew.”

Iroh nodded, and turned to the man, “And for you?”

“Lychee juice.” 

For a second, Iroh stood there, wondering if he was about to be exposed as a victim of serial pranking, but the man just looked at him expectantly. “This is a tea house.”

“Yes?”

“We serve tea. ”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps you are looking for oranges in apple orchards,” Iroh suggested. Usually these sorts of sayings were a big hit with the young men, while also registering some sense into their heads. He would know: he had a young nephew, himself.

“No, I’m looking for lychee juice.”

Iroh sighed. “I can get you some lychee tea? It is one of our our best sellers.”

The man waved his hand in a dismissive affirmative, and Iroh shuffled away, glancing backwards for just a moment at the morose young lady, who looked at the man with a dead look in her eye. Yes indeed, oranges in apple orchards.

As he prepared the blend, something caught his eye outside. Someone stood, clad in black, hovering in the crowd. They did not move, eyes caught on the Jasmine Dragon. Or, maybe, eye. Comfort rushed through him as he recognized his nephew’s graceful stance, and he stopped himself from running outside to see him. If there was one thing he’d learned over three years with the boy, it was that he was akin to a cat: if you demonstrated interest, he repelled it. One had to let Zuko come to them, and so Iroh waited. No good would come out of talking before Zuko was ready, regardless, too confrontational when uncomfortable.

But this at least meant Zuko was alive and had not succumbed to a raging fever, or to Jet’s suicidal impulses. That much was enough.

The doomed couple was served, the young woman tapping her teacup nervously, in a soft rhythm that reminded Iroh far too much of music nights on the ship. I should get Zuko a tsungi horn. He always did play so beautifully. The doorbell tinkled as it swung open. Speak of the devil… Zuko did not pause dramatically in the doorway, nor did he smile at Iroh, nor did he start any of the many duties he’d abandoned yesterday and this morning. No, he nodded and rushed to the backroom.

Surveying the tea house, occupied by an elderly couple with a teapot and the doomed couple, Iroh quickly shuffled into the backroom to check on his dramatic theatre kid of a nephew.

————————————

Will Uncle accept me? Zuko fretted, eyes tracing the tapestry on the wall. It was second-hand, the price already docked considerably, and his uncle was able to get it even lower. Currently, the art piece was Iroh’s most prized purchase. 

Some sort of odd energy was in the air. * Do you feel that, Hebiko? * He imparted, moving his lips to the words out of habit, not necessity. It was eerie how quickly he got used to not speaking . 

*There is energy in the air, little Spirit. * Hebiko imparted, her ideas loud and clear where Zuko’s were murmured and quiet. * As much from you as from me.*

* I haven’t done any bending, though. *

*That, I suspect, is the issue. * Now, she softened the inaudible voice-that-wasn’t-a-voice, into a sort-of whisper. * A Spirit cannot shirk their duties. We are free of Nation and of mortal ties, but not of duty. One cannot exist without purpose.*

* I have purpose. *

*You have familial ties. That is different. You must move with your own hand.*

Zuko did not respond, just flipped his hand over and, with a glance at the empty door, lit a small flame in his hand. In a second, shock intermingled with joy. The tips of the flame’s tongues were tinged blue, so much like Azula’s. Father would let me come home, if he knew I had blue flames.  

*Your Spirit Fire is so weak. * Hebiko mused, and Zuko’s flames flared, angrily. * This is why you’re a baby Spirit.*

“It’s not a ‘Spirit Fire’!” Zuko hissed, switching to just audible. “It’s firebending ! And, clearly, it's getting stronger. It’s a blue flame, you idiot!”

Hebiko started winding up his torso to rest her snout on his shoulder, leaving his mask intertwined with her tail. “Blue fire is extra hot, right?” She waited for Zuko to hum an affirmative. “And fire is hottest in the centre, with the edges being the coolest.” Dread pooled in Zuko’s stomach, though he hummed an affirmative again. “Then why, baby Spirit, is your flame blue at the edges?”

Smoke whirled around Zuko’s feet as he angrily considered the question, and then his flame. The blue tips flared and flickered hungrily at the air, blue sparks flickering off and landing on the floor. No flowers sprouted, though nothing burned either. “I’m not a Spirit.” Zuko said, more trying to convince himself than Hebiko. The Snake hummed, amused, and flicked his cheek with her tongue.

*Okay, little Spirit.* She imparted, and Zuko flinched, snapping his hand shut and snuffing out the fire. 

————————————

Iroh opened the door cautiously, not expecting to see his nephew throwing things, per say, but wary of it. Zuko wasn’t, thankfully, but something was wrong.

The energy surrounding his nephew was… strange. Before, when he looked towards his wayward nephew, his Inner Fire was a tangled mass of drowning Fire and evaporating Water, a symbol of the beacon of contradictions his nephew had become. Defending the 41st only to abuse his own crew the next moment, saving the Avatar only to capture him the next, hoping to return to his father while masquerading as the Fire Nation's most wanted, right next to the Avatar himself. But, now, the energy had shifted. Rather than an ongoing battle between Water and Fire—which still confused Iroh, to his chagrin—it had switched into something less… worldly. 

“Zuko.” Iroh could tell his tone was off, but the word was out of his mouth. His nephew’s head perked at the mention of his name, and he turned to look at his uncle, who swallowed uneasily. Something had changed, in the face of his nephew. Something crucial. On the surface, everything was the same. Inky black hair in his eyes, a hand-shaped scar, pale skin and pursed lips. But there was a light to those golden eyes, that jumped and swayed in time with his Inner Fire, an amused set to his mouth that made Iroh feel watched. No, there was no doubt. Something had changed. “Where have you been?” He tried to keep his tone light and airy, and he nearly did, but irrational fear coloured his tone. Maybe not irrational, considering the inconsistent way Zuko breathed, like a particularly annoying expectation rather than something to maintain his life.

“I went for a walk,” Zuko said, simply, blinking foreignly like it was less a necessity and more a courtesy. “A new tea house tried to open down the street, probably hoping to run you out of business, but it was entirely empty.” Zuko snickered, lightly, which comforted Iroh momentarily. Until a snake—or a Snake—slithered onto Zuko’s shoulders, scenting at his cheek. Zuko did not flinch, though Iroh did.

“Your… Inner Fire has changed.” Iroh said, cautiously, watching the way the fire in Zuko’s eyes flickered before flaring to attention. “Has something happened?”

Zuko’s mouth turned down. “Nothing happened! Why are you so insistent that something must change?!” As he spat the words, small embers flew from his mouth, not just falling but dancing through the air, drifting like petals through the wind. The sparks were as blue as that Mask his Zuko had flung into the lake. As if heeding this thought, the Snake—because it had to be a Snake, not a normal snake—flicked it’s tail into the air, out of sight of Zuko. The Blue Spirit Mask was tied to the tip of it’s tail, and swung, anticipatory. It was anticipatory in the excitement of Iroh’s dismay, anticipatory in the breach of Zuko’s promise to dispose of the Mask.

His nephew did not break promises.

The boy threw his hands in the air, and Iroh had to force himself to remain still. This was not his nephew. The way the lights flashed across his teeth seemed sinister, and the glint in his eyes murderous. Apathetic.

This is not my nephew.

Fear trickled down Iroh’s spine as he watched the boy, the skin around his nephew’s mouth not tightening or loosening even as he shouted. There was no signs of movement at all, and yet his mouth moved nonetheless. The snake/Snake flicked her tongue at Iroh again, before curling herself around Zuko’s neck, like a necklace… or a noose.

That is not my nephew.

Iroh was in danger, he knew he was in the way he knew when a storm was brewing. It echoed through the nerves, the bone marrow, the Inner Fire that warmed Iroh with Agni’s affections. 

Those same affections that once fuelled his nephew, but clearly did not fuel this monstrous being. The creature wearing Zuko’s face snarled and snapped, embers floating around his body. Simultaneously, the Snake draped across Zuko’s neck dangled the Mask, which seemed to lunge in time with the not-Zuko. The energy coming from the being—Spirit, so clearly a Snake Spirit—seemed to enter the Mask and disappear, only for the flames within the not-Zuko’s eyes to flicker and flare. Their energies ebbed together, though the source was clearly from the Snake.

Snake Spirits were known for trickery.

Horror dropped through Iroh’s being as surely as the embers falling around his Zuko… Oh Agni, nephew, what have you gotten yourself into now?

————————————

Hebiko could feel the rising horror in the air, smell it with each satisfied flick of her tongue. The taste of hatred, fear, and dismay was so evident, she was surprised Zuko couldn’t see it. Then again, the Spirits with human manifestations always were less… perceptive. Possessively, Hebiko curled herself around the Blue Spirit Mask, delighting in the energy exuding from it. The Mask was Zuko and was Zuko’s, both possession and being. Well… it used to be Zuko’s. After all, he had given it to her. Maybe he’d meant it to be temporary, but these new Spirits never really knew what they were doing. If you didn’t clarify, well, Hebiko could take it how she’d like, and she’d like it to be a permanent gift.

There was, of course, a reason many Spirits didn’t tie themselves to objects for their Form. A reason that Hebiko had— oops!— forgotten to inform Zuko of. The mortal Form of a Spirit was a direct link to the energy of said Spirit, and if you possessed a Spirit’s Form… well, Hebiko certainly wasn’t powerful enough to control Zuko’s energy—it would take a Major Spirit to do that—but it was easy enough to influence it. Send small sparks falling out of his mouth, fire flashing in his eyes (or, eye), a slackening face… the body followed the soul, so to speak. It was minimal—Hebiko was not a powerful spirit by any means. And, maybe, the small alterations wouldn’t’ve been enough to truly trick the old man, but with a couple imparted fearful emotions into the mortal’s mind, he seemed apprehensive enough. Hebiko twisted her coils a bit tighter around the young Spirit’s neck. Not enough to hurt but enough to remind him that she was there.

Soon enough, the old man would do something reckless , and break the mortal ties. Then Zuko was hers and hers alone. She’d finally have a companion, an ally… the damned elder Spirits wouldn’t be able to look down on her anymore, not once she had a subordinate. Or an ally, depending on how amenable Zuko was.

She’d have someone to spend eons with, instead of perching, lonely, on a branch.

She’d be happy .

She flicked her tongue again, savouring the turmoil of emotions as a food critique would a five-star meal. Flicked again. Something was off in the air. She opened her eyes, slowly, only to see the old man looking straight at her, not Zuko. The horror had been replaced, shifting from horror at his ‘fake nephew’ to something more… protective. Still horrified, but angry, so angry it verged on hate. She shifted the Mask again, trying to prompt more rage from Zuko to take the old man’s oddly perceptive eyes off of her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?!” Zuko snarled, and, with another small shake of the Mask, pressing her dwindling energy into it, sparks whirled from his mouth. She was beginning to run dry, the efforts to affect Zuko’s plethora of Spiritual energy too much for the long term. “I thought you’d be happy to see me, unless you were excited to be rid of me, just like my—” His voice cut off, and Hebiko hissed an amused sound, as she watched the melancholic look forming in Iroh’s eyes.

“I am not looking at you like anything , Zuko,” Iroh took deep breaths, and Hebiko could sense his Inner Fire calming down, against all odds. “However, I am wondering who your Spirit friend is.”

Zuko paused, as if his anger needed time to reroute. “This is Hebiko.” He said, simply, still blinking quickly. Hebiko hissed an affirmative, tail winding his Mask closer to her body. 

“Hello, Iroh. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She hissed, hoping to find some sort of reaction at the revelation of a speaking Snake Spirit. She got nothing of the sort. The man dipped his head in a nod with no noticeable shift in emotion.

“Hmm. Why don’t I go take a break from the Jasmine Dragon, we’ll close it for an hour, and I’ll get some food?” The old man did not wait for Zuko’s affirmative, and moved towards the shop.

One thing was certain… he was onto Hebiko’s antics, and she didn’t like it one bit.

I need to hold onto this Mask. It might take more pushing, but the bonds between family are not certain.

————————————

Sitting crosslegged, Zuko stared at the Snake at the seat next to him, loosely wrapped around his Mask. * I need my Mask, Hebiko. * He impressed an image of said Mask into the Snake’s mind, hands extended for the object. “I don’t want my uncle to see it, yet.”

Hebiko curled around it for a moment but did not impart anything, though, from the way her coils squeezed the wood, she seemed almost… possessive. “I can protect it, little Spirit.” She said it aloud, and Zuko narrowed his eyes.

* I am not little, and I can protect it myself . * His shoulders tensed as she curled around the mask even tighter, but the Mask didn’t even bend. * And I don’t need to protect it. I trust my uncle, I just don’t want him to see it before I can explain. * The words were not words, but ideas of trust and love.

Now she reared up, hissing and spitting, though none of the venom landed on Zuko or the Mask. *Explain what, Blue Spirit? * She imparted, a far switch from Zuko’s name or her nickname for him. * I’ve tried to be gentle about it, but you cannot continue… gallivanting with mortals. It doesn’t happen! Spirits are observers, impartial guides. You can root for a mortal, fine, but why care for them?! Especially one so… decrepit.*

“I’m mortal!” Zuko did not impart anything, flinging himself upwards and balling his hands into fists at his sides. “And don’t you dare say anything against my uncle!” He did not yell, pointedly, but he did hiss the words, a blue-tinged flame erupting from his mouth. Smoke swirled through the room, twisting sentiently through Zuko’s fingers and hair. “I’m not a Spirit, Hebiko. Agni clearly blessed me enough to give me a second chance at life! And I’m not going to squander it by avoiding the only person who actually cares about me!” He’d cursed Agni. But Agni hadn’t lied to Zuko, Zuko was alive. Zuko may still be mad, may still be enraged , even, but he was still given a shot.

*I care. * Hebiko hissed, rearing up to the height of Zuko’s shoulders, though she wasn’t quite long enough to meet his eyes. The tendrils of sparkling smoke seemed to imitate her movements, rising in similar, writhing patterns. * I care!*

Zuko refused to impart the words again, continuing aloud. “I thought Spirits couldn’t ‘gallivant’ with mortals? After all, ‘why care for them’?!” The room was sweltering. It’d been years since Zuko had accidentally lit something on fire in his rage, but he’d always had a way of raising the room by a few degrees when his anger was lit.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“Sorry, you two.” Zuko spun to face his uncle, who was wearing his biggest, fakest customer service grin and holding an empty tray. “What would you prefer, Hebiko? I have some jasmine, and some green…” As the Snake’s attention trained on the old man, Zuko swiped his Mask from her coils and shoved it under his shirt, the sharp edges scraping his skin. Immediately, Hebiko whirled towards Zuko, a devastated and angry look dancing on her face. She was imparting something into his mind. Zuko didn’t listen.

“Do you need help with the rest of the tea, uncle?” Zuko tilted his head at the private room where his uncle usually brewed the tea, away from prying eyes. Immediately, a beaming smile lit up his uncle’s face.

“Certainly not making it, but you can help me bring it over.” Iroh’s eyes twinkled, no doubt thinking of Zuko’s many unsuccessful attempts at recreating his uncle’s teamaking. “Hebiko, go ahead and make yourself at home. We’ll be out shortly.”

“I can hel—”

“Certainly not!” Zuko’s uncle dipped his head, a mix between a nod and a bow. It almost seemed to relax the Snake minutely. “You’re the guest, I can’t have you making tea. That’s why I have my nephew!”

Hebiko’s focus shifted between Zuko, Iroh, and the Mask under Zuko’s shirt. “If you are certain.”

“Manners are an essential part of mortal lives.” Iroh spoke, while Zuko sidled into the back room. “It would be an offence to us if you insisted on helping.” With that said, his uncle followed Zuko into the private area. “Phew.” The older man whispered, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Now, nephew,” Zuko was levelled with a stern look. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

————————————

His nephew seemed shifty. “Now, nephew, why don’t you tell me what you’ve gotten yourself into?” 

Zuko immediately tensed, thankfully-normal eyes flitting from side to side before settling on Iroh again, searching for a confrontation. Iroh took his nephew’s moment of hesitation to reevaluate his nephew, out of view of the Snake Spirit. The Blue Spirit Mask was clearly shoved down his shirt in an effort to hide it, the carved smile pushing through the fabric like a ghost through a wall. It was here that Iroh began to run through checks on the state of his nephew. Eyes returned to the proper gold, no wayward fire raging behind them? Check. Appropriately expressive facial features, such as the pinched skin between Zuko’s intact eyebrow and where his other eyebrow should be? Check. Awkward energy, as he shifted his weight from left to right, the same way he did during his sword fights? Check.

The only difference that remained was the absence of the turmoil that had marked Zuko for so long. His inner fire seemed consistent, lacking the enraged sputters of pre-North or the drowning flame of post-North. Now there was a certain level of balance , though it wasn’t balance he was altogether familiar with. Zuko’s Inner Flame, from feel alone, was… stronger, yes, but also less controlled . If a proper Inner Fire was a groomed apple orchard, Zuko’s was a forest, trees planted haphazardly, but equally prosperous. It would just take more effort to bear the fruits of one’s labour.

“Noth—”

“I already know something’s off,” Iroh said, patiently, though he felt anything but. “It would be better to just tell me, for my own peace of mind.”

“And if I know it won’t bring you any peace?” Zuko said, in a remarkably calm tone, though panic did edge the words.

Iroh smiled and picked up his teacup. “Then I will drink my ginseng while you speak.”

“It's a long story.” Zuko fretted, another un-Zuko-like thing. In response, Iroh picked up his teapot and brandished it, before returning it to the countertop. “Do you remember how you found me in the ocean? In the North?” Iroh nodded, afraid to speak and spook his nephew. “I…” Sigh. “I died.” The word was a whisper.

I’ve misheard. “You what?”

“I died!” Zuko exclaimed, sparks flickering to life around him again before disappearing. “And… I don’t fully understand it myself, but apparently I was given a…a—” Zuko raised his hands to put the next words in air quotes. “‘Water funeral’.”

Horror made the tea in Iroh’s mouth taste bitter, but he swallowed it down nonetheless. “Yes, a prayer of deliverance before being frozen, then set adrift in the ocean. I’ve seen it done.”

“ Allegedly my soul belonged to La, and then I had this dream and I got interrogated by a really annoying fish, who was actually Tui, and then they started asking me this stupid question and wouldn’t stop, and then I got fucking swallowed by the fish, and, once I answered the question I woke up.” The words swamped each other as Zuko spat them out, getting jumbled and only serving to make Iroh more confused. “And then you found me—”

“What question?”

Zuko paused. “The body or the soul?” The words rumbled as Zuko said them, and Iroh paused. Did the Spirits… reincarnate Zuko? For what purpose? They are not selfless beings, there is always a debt to be paid. And then, a few seconds later, Zuko’s former tangled abomination of an Inner Fire made sense. A Spirit-kiss touches the very energy of a person. If two opposing elements tried to alter Zuko’s Inner Fire… well, that just spells chaos. Annoyance etched into Iroh’s face, though he tried to ward it off. The Spirits always were so… trivial with human life.

“I see. Please continue.”

Zuko nodded. “Uh, and then when I freed the Avatar’s bison and had the fever, I had another dream.” Zuko brought his hands to his temples, concentrating. “Something about how I ‘chose my path’ when I claimed to be the Blue Spirit? And that my Inner Fire was dying… and that Water and Fire was warring in me.” That made his head snap up. “I’m Fire though! Through and through! I’ve always been Fire.” Iroh nodded placatingly, and the boy continued. “But, they asked me if I wanted to live or die, and I said I wanted to live… I also said something about my Inner Fire or chi being mine, I think… but, anyway, I woke up and…” Tears beaded in Zuko’s eyes, though they were quickly wiped away. “And I couldn’t affect anything around me. I was a ghost. When I tried to wake you up, I couldn’t. So I left Ba Sing Se and met Hebiko.”

Iroh could feel his expression darkening and tried to wipe it off his face. Judging by Zuko’s grim, yet agreeing, expression, he didn’t do a very good job of it. “Yes, I’m particularly interested in that part.”

“She said that I needed a Form? And that mine was the Blue Spirit Mask. So, I got it, and now I’m really alive.” Zuko twiddled with his fingers. “So… yeah.” His nephew looked up, waiting for Iroh to respond.

Iroh took a deep drink of his tea, drained it, and then added some more to the cup, only to drain that one too. With a third filling and a small sip, Iroh stared at his nephew, trying to conjure something to say.

Claimed to be the Blue Spirit. Iroh thought and considered the odd sparks that were slowly dying down as his nephew calmed, though the few stragglers continued dancing through the air. Considered the smoke that writhed like it had a mind of its own, when he’d watched Zuko and Hebiko arguing. Considered the way Hebiko hadn’t spoken aloud, but Zuko had responded regardless. Considered the wildness of his nephew’s Inner Fire, like a bunched coil, ready to spring. 

There was something spiritual about his nephew now, there was no doubt. He was at the very least Spirit-kissed, at the most a Spirit himself. That sort of thing hadn’t occurred in hundreds of years but the world also hadn’t been in such an uprise for a while. With the civil and global unrest, of course Spirits would be crawling out of the woodworks. When the mortal realm was in trouble too. The soul follows the body, the body follows the soul. They were intertwined.

He just needed to figure out if Zuko was one of said Spirits. At the thought, a shiver trailed down his spine.

“Are you certain you are a ghost ?” Iroh asked, mildly, and Zuko firmed his jaw.

“It’s between a ghost and a zombie, uncle.” Zuko’s lips twisted, wryly. “I’ll let you know if I feel an inclination towards brains.”

Iroh hummed, and stroked at his beard, the comforting movement of hand over the hairs giving him a moment to think. “Water is the element of Change, and Fire of Power. They are natural opposites, as well as natural compliments. Fire can purify any water, water can curb the dangerous appetite of fire. The combination of the two does not necessary mean death .”

“Uh…” Zuko tilted his head, looking remarkably like the turtleducks he was so fond of. “It does, though. That’s why I died .” There was something about the way Zuko said the word that sent images tumbling through his head. Civilians piled and burned, Lu Ten’s ashes, Zuko , shaking in the snow. 

For a moment, Iroh had to squeeze his eyes shut and let the images flow through him. When he opened his eyes, Zuko looked a bit guilty. “Change is not death, nephew. You should know that more than anyone.” Zuko didn’t respond, so Iroh stepped closer and placed his hand on Zuko’s shoulder. The boy’s eyes shut tightly, but he didn’t move away. “Besides, you didn’t die. You should be overjoyed! Agni chose to bring you back. That is the highest honour of a firebender.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m feeling over the moon.” Zuko glared, the facial expression narrowing his good eye to the same slit as his burned one. The look probably burned those unused to it, but Iroh had been seeing it his entire life. It really had no effect on him anymore. His nephew’s eyes brightened, and he straightened his back. “But I’ve improved! My flame is blue, just like Azula’s!” 

Iroh raised his eyebrow. He was nowhere near that last time he bent… “Oh?”

Zuko was oblivious to Iroh’s scepticism. “We can go home! We haven’t found the Avatar, but this has to be at least enough to prove myself. We wouldn’t be traitors anymore!”

Oh, Zuko. I’ve been a traitor for the better half of a decade now. You, since your Avatar heist at Pohuai. There is no hope for us to remove our faces from those posters, just as there is no way to return home with our heads still on our shoulders. “What is your plan then, Zuko?”

“I’ll be reinserted into the line of succession. You can play Pai Sho with real tiles, and drink your tea from the fancy teapots you deserve , uncle.” The joy on his nephew’s face was both endearing and terrifying. “You wouldn’t need to serve tea anymore, or deal with rude customers.” Iroh sighed and thought of the poor woman with the man. 

“I’ve told you before, Zuko. It’s not what the tea is in that matters, but the quality of the tea itself.” He patted the teen’s shoulder, a sad but comforting motion, to Iroh as much as to Zuko. “As long as what’s inside is good, I do not care if it comes in a golden pot or a tin one. I was not happy, as a general, just as I was not happy being waited on, hand and foot. I find that true joy is found when one follows their passions.” Iroh paused, not to think but for Zuko’s betterment, for the boy to consider the words. “What is your passion, Zuko?”

“My destiny is to follow in the footsteps of my ancestors.” Zuko said, shakily, swallowing deeply.

“Yes.” Iroh said, knowingly, though they were most certainly thinking of different grandparents. “Yes, it is.” A lengthy pause ensued and Iroh switched topics, not wanting to fry his nephew’s brain. “Now, as for Hebiko .” He put a hefty emphasis on the word, and Zuko squirmed under the scrutiny.

“She’s been helping me with… figuring out stuff. After… the ghost thing.”

Iroh hummed. “Spirits do not help without reason. I’d suggest you figure out hers.”

“She wanted a heater and a tour guide.” The words were tentative, unsure. Zuko likely realised how silly they were when said aloud.

Iroh fixed him with a firm look. “Spirits are not empathetic gods. They have their own agendas to fulfil.” With that said, Iroh turned to pick up a tray of tea and handed it to Zuko. “Let’s go see what sort of agenda Hebiko has, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

The monks always taught Aang that the Avatar was the reincarnation of the world, in human form. The bridge, in that the soul was Spirit, the body was mortal. It was in this way that he knew something was happening in the Spirit World. It was the most minute disturbance in his chi, a shiver much like how a leaf quaked in the slight wind before a storm. It was even before the twang that he knew something was going on.

As Sokka and he rode Appa away from Ba Sing Se—and the bison seemed much appreciative of leaving the city—he felt it . There was a vibration, felt deep in his soul, like the snap of one of the Yuyan archers’ bows. The difference: Aang was able to outmanoeuvre them—sort of. But this vibration in his chi? That snapped through his arrows, racing down them like rapids? He did not know how to outrun this.

Something had changed.

————————————

What are they talking about in there? Hebiko curled into a small ball, feeling the loss of the mask within her coils. There has to be a reason they wouldn’t let me join them, more than manners. And how long does it take to make tea, anyway? Certainly not this long. Slithering a bit closer to the door, she flicked her tongue. Confusion, annoyance, begrudging affection—because it had to be begrudging—and whirling flames, though a hint of floral sweetness cut through the acrid heat. Those were all Zuko’s, most certainly, as the strength nearly drowned out any other smells or emotions in the room. 

The old man’s emotions seemed more like an afterthought, in the madness of Hurricane Zuko. Love, sadness and scepticism, with a touch of tea. Ginseng? Regardless, things were going well between them, which meant it was going badly for Hebiko. The stupid man has millions of other humans to care about. He’s selfish, that’s what he is. And, what was worse, the old man had his clutches in Zuko. “Let’s go see what sort of agenda Hebiko has, shall we?” Iroh said, the words muffled by the door, and Hebiko fled for her spot at the table, curling into a small ball with her eyelids closed. As the door opened, she opened one eye slowly, looking blearily at the Spirit and man standing in the doorway.

“I didn’t know making tea was such a long process. ” She smiled while imparting images of harmless curiosity into Zuko’s head. Now, at least, the boy seemed to be listening. Clearly, he was starting to realise who his real friends were. Not mortals, and not the elder Spirits, but Hebiko , who’d helped him from the start. “ You should show me sometime. ” The habit of imparting while speaking was hard to break, and Hebiko found herself sending senseless images of shrubbery into Zuko’s mind. Stop that. Zuko isn’t trusting the impressions enough right now.

“Yes, learning to make a good batch takes time,” Iroh said with a baring of his teeth that looked like a smile. “It’s all about the intentions, I find.” That makes no sense . Hebiko smiled back, though it was more of an imitation of Iroh’s. Is he senile? 

In an attempt to find some form of solidarity, Hebiko coiled her energy around Zuko’s, trying to impress confused amusement, but immediately his Inner Fire jumped and danced with protectiveness, bubbling and writhing, to push her energy away from him. Emotionally, it really did sting, though, ignored and shafted. She could feel the prickling of her aura, so similar to the prickling of mortal eyes before tears. This is the fault of that uncle. He thinks he knows what’s best for Zuko, when, really, Iroh has nothing to offer him. I have everything! In a quieter voice, her mind whispered, Why doesn’t he want me?

Iroh was peering at her curiously, and Hebiko could practically feel her aura shirking from the look. It was as if he could see the very energy that surrounded her, judging it and finding it unworthy. Decision made, the man went to sit across the circular table from her, and Zuko sidled behind him, placing a cup of tea in front of her before going to sit equidistant from both Hebiko and his uncle. That, at least, Hebiko would count as a win. He hadn’t left her. 

And he wouldn’t. Not once he realised how much she could help him. He would stay by her side, permanently. Companionship meant survival in the Spirit World and, in the emotional landscape, it meant an escape from a lonely eternity.

“How are you liking Ba Sing Se, Hebiko?” Iroh asked, placidly, though the way his Inner Fire surged indicated anything but. “I understand you wanted my nephew to bring you here.”

Hebiko exhaled, impressing the smallest emotion of trust into the edges of Zuko’s aura. The boy was young, so young his energy swirled and lashed, tendrils separating from the whole and rejoining moments later. As one of such tendrils, imbued with Hebiko’s gift of trust rejoined the mass, Zuko’s shoulders softened. Yes, he was a strong Spirit, but an unaware one. “It’s lovely.” Speaking in this simple way, devoid of impressions made the hiss of her letters more noticeable. “I’ve not been in such a large sssettlement before. Small outssskirting ones are much more amenable to creaturesss of my Form.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” Iroh nodded, and Zuko’s held breath exhaled, embers sparkling through his breath. “Purely interested in the mortal world, then? A noble purpose. You don’t see that much in Spirits.”

Spirits did not lie, just as the soul did not lie, in the way that denying the truth purposefully did wonders to impact a Spirit’s chi. However, two rules in place made it possible for Hebiko to manoeuvre around Iroh’s conversation. 1. If a Spirit did not know something was a lie, there was no effect… for all they knew, it was the truth. 2. A partial truth is as much truth as a full truth, and was treated accordingly.

As such, she did not confirm or deny whether or not that interest was her purpose . “Yes, it is a noble purpose.” She stated, flicking her tongue curiously. “I imagine I’m much like your nephew, in my interessst in humanity.” But not in my apathy for it was left unsaid.

“You said Spirits couldn’t care for humans! Why are you lying ?” Zuko bit out, and Hebiko let out an offended hiss. Care? Of course she cared, which is why she didn’t put him into an unfulfilable deal the moment he asked about his Form. That was as close to true care as a Spirit could get! She cared to have a friend, she cared to have someone to protect her, as the others had. She cared to have the Blue Spirit by her side and finally be worthy of a glance.

Another flick of her tongue as she stewed. Betrayal, emanating from herself and… Zuko. She could feel herself softening. He wasn’t acting like this out of rage. He felt betrayed and, even though Hebiko knew that she had his best interests at heart, he didn’t know that. “I’m sssorry, Zuko.” She simpered, trying to give him her best Snakelet eyes. “I didn’t mean that. I meant that…” A small lightbulb went off in her head. “... Well, I meant Ssspirit’s shouldn’t. It’s a weak spot, and sometimes other Ssspirits will find that weak ssspot and exploit it.” She sent him an imparted emotion of fear at the word exploit, and was pleased to see he wasn’t rejecting her anymore. “It’s dangerousss, to both Ssspirit and mortal. That’s all I meant. I didn’t consider you because I know you can protect yourssself.”

Zuko didn’t preen exactly at that compliment, but a small smile did slither onto his face. 

“Then what is your hope, here?” Iroh took a deep drink of his tea in front of him. “If mortals are a weak spot, why… fraternise with my nephew—” Hebiko tasted a lie in the air, not in his question but in his description of Zuko as a mortal. “—and the rest of Ba Sing Se?”

She hesitated. If she mentioned Zuko being a Spirit, it would probably reverse the minute progress she had made. “Zuko has already faced the Major Ssspirits. He can handle himssself.” And keep me safe in the meanwhile. “Besides, Ssspirits can have hobbiesss.” Most of hers were solitary, but that would change, once this man stopped interrogating her and she could convince Zuko to join her. 

“They can,” Iroh said, passively, though his eyes were anything but. “Though hobbies do not fulfil a person.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’d be interested to know what other hobbies you have, if you’d tell me?” It was like the man thought she’d just say Oh, you know, just chilling in the woods, being at the lowest rung of the Spirit hierarchy, oh I almost forgot! I like to roast innocent travellers on a stick and suck out their souls! She didn’t, of course. Hebiko wasn’t much of a fan of the chewy texture, like swallowing the sap of a rubber tree. 

Regardless, this little verbal jest was starting to aggravate her, she could tell from the way her aura reared, a massive creature of coils with no end, shoved into a mortal meat puppet. She needed Zuko, just as he needed her, and Iroh would just impede Zuko’s transition from Zuko to Blue Spirit. Zuko deserved to have someone to guide him, just as she deserved to have someone to accompany her. 

As she opened her mouth in response, Zuko slammed his hands into the table, and sparks exploded from his palms, cascading through the room in a wave of dancing rainbow embers. “I'll just say what you mean, uncle.” His eyes flashed an action that—this time—had nothing to do with Hebiko. “You’re going in circles. Hebiko, what is your plan ? What do you gain by helping me?”

Hebiko slid her eyes to look at Iroh and saw the recognition in his eyes at Zuko’s display of Spirit flames. He knows of Zuko’s nature. Her mind whispered, and Hebiko looked at Iroh suspiciously. And if he is the one to convince Zuko of it, there is no pulling Zuko back from that cliff. If Iroh explains the intricacies of the Spirit World, what do I have to offer Zuko? Without that small bit of information—which she currently held—Zuko would have no reason to remain with her. He would return to the old man, and spend his life teamaking , and she’d be…

Alone.

She hissed, slithering a bit closer to Zuko, blinking kindly. I need to tell him. I need him to have a reason to care. “Your uncle is dancssing around a cssertain topic, not only with me, but with you . You dessserve to be in the know.” She feigned a distasteful look at Iroh, who looked mildly panicked but certain in the inevitability of what Hebiko would say. “Sssooner rather than later.”

Iroh swallowed, clearly not wanting to influence his nephew, but not wanting Hebiko to do so either. “If you boil a tea too quickly, at the wrong temperature, it only sours.” He levelled a look at Hebiko, and Hebiko flicked her tail impatiently. 

“Yesss, yesss, whatever. Patience.” Hebiko stared at Zuko, who looked right back into her eyes. This has to make you trust me. It has to. “You have been changed, Zuko. I know you do not want to hear it, but it must be sssaid.”

“Hebiko,” Iroh said in warning, but Zuko’s eyes were still trained on her. “There is no point to this. Quiet.” A flame appeared in Iroh’s hand, though he doused it quickly. How dare a mortal try and tell me what to do.  

“A Ssspirit cannot lie.” She whispered and reared upwards to be closer to eye level. “I was not lying before, and I am not now. Agni and La changed you, at the very basssisss of your being.”

Iroh interrupted with a cough, and Hebiko hissed her annoyance, little specks of acidic spit flying towards the man. At this, he waved an arc of flame, dissolving the droplets and singing Hebiko’s tongue. She hissed and, though it healed quickly, rage bubbled in her gut. He hurt me. He could’ve hurt Zuko. She knew the man wouldn’t . She didn’t care. “The only one that can choose who you are is you, Zuko.” The man spoke, like a liar.

“You’ve changed, Zuko.” Hebiko flicked her tongue. “Face it: ghostsss do not exissst. You are a Ssspirit, jussst like me.” There was a distraught look on Zuko’s face, and Hebiko wished she could apologize, but she wasn’t quite sorry. “Your destiny is chosen.”

Iroh was mad, she could taste it in the air.

What a sensational feeling.

————————————

Zuko was not a Spirit, no matter how much the world was trying to convince him otherwise. Even going against all evidence, if Zuko was a Spirit, everything he’d wanted out of life was dead. No returning to the Fire Nation with the Avatar, no line of succession, no father clasping Zuko’s shoulder in the way Uncle did. 

If Zuko didn’t just die but became inhuman, he was even more of a failure than he thought. A Fire Prince died with honour, accepting his death and not relying on Water Spirits to change his essence. He was already toeing the line, becoming a ghost/zombie, assisted by Agni, Tui, and La. But if he let himself be changed so fully? Well, he wasn’t just a failure, anymore. He wasn’t even just a traitor to the Fire Nation. He was a traitor to all of humanity, to the very thesis of what makes one human. Strive to be more, but never the most.

If Zuko was a Spirit, an honourless, self-centred being, then he was destined to remain Zuko, a banished traitor and a snivelling coward. He was to be selfish and manipulative, permanently destined to be lonely and self-serving.

And, if Zuko did that, then he really did deserve to be executed.

Which was why Zuko was not a Spirit. Because, in his heart, he knew he didn’t deserve to be executed, so he couldn’t’ve done anything wrong, so he couldn’t be a Spirit.

Simple, easy, done.

“You’re a fucking liar ,” Zuko growled, hands burning. He could smell smoke, taste it, see it. The world was smoke, for all he knew. It came out with each breath, choked him with each inhale, and charred his skin grey. The smoke flashed, the force of his anger sparking in and out of existence in embers. “I’m human. I’m human !” His uncle was moving towards him, hand landing on his arm in a placating movement, but Zuko shook him off. “What, you think I’m not good enough to be human, Uncle?” The words came out in a hiss, smoke streaming out of his mouth. “You also think I’m a fucking failure and that I have to be something disgraceful? ” 

“Of course not,” Iroh spoke, and Zuko relaxed for a moment. “You are the most honourable man I know, Zuko.”

He didn’t deny the Spirit thing. Zuko growled again, stepping back as his hands automatically searched for his Mask, clutching his abdomen, where it was stored. “ I’m not a Spirit. You said Spirits work for their own gain. She’s lying, and I don’t know why! ” His anger was mounting, and daggers of imparted rage shot towards Hebiko from Zuko, as he angrily slammed ideas of hate into her mind.

“Please, Zuko,” Hebiko was coiled at his feet, Hebiko was a towering mass of scales that filled the small room, wall to wall, in knots and rings. Hebiko was whispering something to him, Hebiko was ebbing a creaking rhythm of hisses, crackles, and whistling flutes that was somehow distressing and beautiful at the same time. Hebiko was scared, Hebiko was a writhing infinity of horror. “You needed to know .”

“Are you okay?” Iroh reached for Zuko again, who flinched away. Iroh, the Dragon of the West. Iroh, his uncle. Iroh, a flame of comfort and love, twisting and tangling Zuko into an intangible hug that warmed his essence, but not his body. Zuko did not respond, still staring at the scales and blazing fire. “Zuko?”

“If Spirits cannot lie,” he said, desperately grasping for straws. “If Spirits cannot lie, then listen to this: I am not a Spirit. I am human!”

Iroh cast a dirty look to the side, where Hebiko was curled into a nervous ball— so much like the coils, oh the coils, that filled the room, oh Agni help him. “You have not changed, not in the ways that matter. You are still selfless and unflinchingly good. What does it matter, Spirit or not?” Zuko snarled again, and backed away. He felt like a shaken bottle, like the rumble of a volcano before erupting. His skin felt as if it was stretching , as if something was being unleashed. But the feeling was not physical , but theoretical, a concept that made his head ache and vision swim. Again, his fingers trailed over the Mask under his shirt. The Blue Spirit was untethered to these concepts, untouched by mortal politics and Spirits matters. It was Zuko’s will, enacted, it was Zuko’s soul, liberated from the touch of Spirits and the morals of man. It was a body unmarked by disappointment or failures, unscarred. 

It was bright out, it would be stupid to don the Mask and leave. Zuko didn’t care.

Who am I now?

Zuko wanted to go home.

He stumbled through the doorway into the Ba Sing Se cobbled streets.

————————————

“You’re a fucking liar. ” Zuko spat, and Hebiko froze. She did not freeze for any logical reason but a thrumming in her chi and an energy in the air. She did not freeze for anything that was quantifiable, but something that made her brain scream “ danger ”. She froze because that was the thing that kept her alive for ninety-odd years over the other minute Snake Spirits, and she froze because if she didn’t, her body would be twisted and her energy drunk like wine, and the danger wouldn’t even be satisfied with that. “I’m human. I’m human !” Zuko screamed-imparted-struck, vocally scorching Hebiko’s eardrums, metaphysically grabbing her energy and shaking and shaking until her chi was nothing more than a broken jack-in-the-box, popping and screaming and flailing.

Hebiko had first noticed Zuko because he was powerful and new, a good combination to wring out companionship and status.

She was now seeing that to be a horrible mistake.

Where her actual form, her True Self, was small, just the size of the room, the Blue Spirit was even smaller, not even taking up a quarter the room. A mask—no, the Mask—flickered over Zuko’s face, on and off and on and off, radiating pure energy and power. Smoke whipped through the room, flames flickering and searing Hebiko’s coils, to the point where her True Self, the manifestation of her will and power, just writhed and curled, unwilling to move to protect itself. And the worst part was the music , silent yet audible, the pounding of a drum like a heartbeat, the soft strumming of the pipa. It was so overwhelming that when Zuko’s mouth moved to speak, all she could hear was a drumbeat and threatening, alluring music.

Iroh was moving to speak to Zuko, and the Mask turned to the man. But instead of striking him down, the smoke died, curls of Inner Fire wrapping around the man but never touching him. 

“Pleassse, Zuko,” The words fell from her mouth, desperately, watching as the Mask turned its angry eyes to her. “You needed to know.” Tell me I’m right. She begged, looking up at him. Tell me I was right in telling you. Tell me you wanted this, tell me I didn’t squander my last chance.

Iroh reached for the Blue Spirit, but the boy twisted away, speaking but Hebiko could only hear music. At his words, Iroh gave a dirty look to Hebiko, before continuing to speak to the Blue Spirit, in voices she couldn’t hear . He’s manipulating Zuko . She curled tighter into a ball, head tucked somewhere between the coils. He’s telling Zuko not to trust me, and I cannot do anything. I am going to be alone again. I am going to be alone. He’s forcing me to be alone. 

Zuko was moving, leaving, leaving her behind, but also leaving Iroh . The door opened, metaphysical and physical, and Zuko was gone, physical and metaphysical.

She’d lost.

Iroh’d lost.

She’d forgotten that life was not a game with clearly defined sides, with rules that defined victory. She’d forgotten that, sometimes, there was a secret third option not even the contestants knew of.

————————————

There was another twang in his soul, something changing . The worlds were moving, both mortal and Spirit. Air wants to be free .

Aang did not feel free. 

His energy was tied somewhere, and he did not like it.

You could not keep a bird in a cage and expect it to flourish. You could not hand a boy a predetermined destiny and expect him to fulfil it.

Aang had to fulfil it.

There was energy skating along the thread between mortal and Spirit, and his chi burned and frayed, like spiritual rope burn. It was like he’d been flayed, skin pulled back and innards dragged out. Something had fallen into him, and he didn’t know if it would come back out.

“Aang, you alright, buddy?” Sokka peered at him, and Aang shivered, before smiling unsurely.

He was the Avatar. If he wasn’t alright, who would take his place?

“Yeah! Let’s see your father!” Aang beamed.

Usually, Sokka would’ve been able to tell but, caught up in everything, the Water Tribe boy just grinned and leaned back into Appa’s leather saddle.

————————————

Zuko was not in Ba Sing Se, but he was also not not in Ba Sing Se.

He wasn’t, and he wasn’t not.

It would be wrong to say he was and he wasn’t, because the state of being he existed in could not be quantified by positives. You could not say what it was, but only eliminate what it wasn’t.

Towering trees surrounded him, almost no new life in the shadows of the giants. Long cords seemed to make up each trunk, glistening with water. Zuko’s bare feet—no, they weren’t bare anymore—sunk into the sloshing mud beneath him. His shoes were simple black cloth, designed for stealth wear over durability and water-resistance, and that lapse in judgement was felt in the mud seeping between Zuko’s toes. The air was thick with fog and steam, the latter rising from Zuko’s shaking shoulders. A scream ripped itself from Zuko’s throat, flames blasting from his mouth and hands as he threw a temper tantrum for the ages. He was childish. He felt better.

Where the flames hit, flowers did not sprout. Black char laced the ground and oddly-veined trees, not burning, but scorched. A deep sigh rattled from his throat. He was whole, again. The odd lightness he’d been feeling since waking up had disappeared, his feet grounded and body solid. Zuko was right again. “Losing control of one’s anger is akin to losing control of one’s flame. You may burn others, but you, too, are burned.” Zuko imitated his uncle’s trailing voice, guessing at what the man would say. “Makes no fucking sense. It’d make more sense to say holding in anger burned you.”

*But it is better to the trees you burn? * Something spoke, and Zuko spun around. * If a forest burns, you won’t be able to run fast enough to get out.*

“Who’s there?” Zuko shouted, sending a blast of fire in the direction of the voice. It went silent for a moment, and guilt twisted in his stomach, intermingling with relief.

*Ha! And even if you can run fast enough, you’ll be tangled in vines and die nonetheless.* 

All the guilt/relief faded. “Shut up!”

*You know the worst part, Blue Spirit? * The unreal voice whispered. * The worst part is, it won’t even your fire, shot by you but not directed by your whims. You will burned by another’s flame. Again. * A pause as Zuko let out a kick of flame, which died in the wet environment before it could go more than a meter. * What a sad, pathetic situation we’re in to need you .*

“You—” Pause. Zuko looked into the darkness beyond the surrounding trees, into the beading mist and empty space. There was an energy there, more concentrated than the fog that seemed to imprison Zuko. Slowly, he bent his knees, like a cat ready to pounce on it’s prey. “Need me?” 

The voice seemed to smirk at him. No, it wasn’t a seem. Metaphysically, it did, in an unquantifiable way that Zuko’s brain couldn’t comprehend. *I know, I’m surprised too.* It was here, in the moment most arrogant, that Zuko sprung forward, hands automatically going to the blades on his back—how did they get there? He didn’t leave the house with them—which he swung at the mass of energy. The dao cut through it, slicing the energy cleanly, and triumph rose in Zuko’s mind. *Nice try.* Something clamped down on Zuko’s wrists, slamming him to his knees, the mud flying up and dousing his dark training gear. Wetness slithered along his skin, knees chilling as his skin goosebumped. His dao—his defence, his skill—fell and sunk up to the hilts, and Zuko let out a dishonourable yelp. Writhing against the something holding him down did nothing, as there was nothing to fight, just energy that sunk Zuko deeper and deeper, the slime travelling up his lower back. *Silly little boy, playing with butterknives. Does he even know how to use them?*

Fire spouted from Zuko’s mouth as he continued thrashing, though the forces remained strong. I am a prince in everything but name. His mind hissed, furiously, as Zuko strained and kicked. I will not be taken without a fight . The image of a dagger floated to the forefront of Zuko’s mind, and vigour flooded his Inner Fire. He was a boy, he was a Spirit. He was writhing in the mud, he was slashing out with burning blades that did not exist, but pointedly did. He was imprisoned by unseen forces, he was cutting off the limbs of said forces.

Water sizzled, boiled, and Zuko was on his feet again, slashing through the fog with smoke, which flooded from his mouth and replaced the mist with warm comfort, something that he controlled. Zuko did not fight on battlefields designed for him. He fought in the South, the North. He’d fought raiding pirates on unburning ships, he’d fought Fire soldiers when unable—or unwilling—to bend, with a frog-obsessed Avatar behind him. It was in these ways that he was an expert at levelling the playing field . Hostages and the sun, daos wielded and stubbornness prevailing. And so, he knew how to fix the odds in ways Azula did not, and fix them he did, removing the hateful fog from his sight with pointed puffs of smoke, dark and black as they trailed from his nose.

Of course, surrounded by smoke, there wasn’t much he could see. 

*Little firebender. * The voice whispered into his mind, trying for a relaxed tone, though Zuko could hear the annoyance in it’s voice, like a kettle’s whistle. * You didn’t think that would work, did you? Flaming swords aren’t going to help you. You cannot run from truth, as you cannot run from a mirror. Shatter it as you might, one day you will look and one day truth will grab you and wrench you from ignorance.*

“Big talk for someone that can’t get me!” Zuko shouted, puffing smoke from his nose as he navigated through the woods, looking for the invisible speaker. “You said you needed my help! Why?!” 

* Oh, you misunderstood. * The voice sounded right in Zuko’s ear, and he spun towards it, growling and puffing out more smoke. * We don’t need your help . We need you. *

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

The space where Taraqtuut’s throat would be let out a small rumble, reminiscent of raindrops on shimmering snow and the ripple of water against harsh ice. The ice was not harsh in cutting words or slippery traps, but harsh in the reflection of the self. In a reflection, there was no hiding of truth.

Many eons ago, Taraqtuut looked into a mirror. Many eons ago, he saw himself, immortalised in truth and the shining water beneath his bloodied form.

Many eons ago, he chose to be Taraqtuut. He chose to be a mirror. As was his chosen destiny.

Many eons ago, Taraqtuut died and fell into his truthful, brutal reflection, and transcended. He looked back at every truthseeker and whispered, This is you , until they fled, either grateful for the knowledge or fearful of it. Taraqtuut did not care either way. It was their choice what to do with the knowledge, he just needed to provide it.

But this… this Spirit who was not a boy, this boy who was not a Spirit, he refused . This boy-Spirit looked at himself and decided to remain blind and ignorant, clinging to a destiny that was not his. Not anymore. He looked at himself and did not see the truth, but a fabricated lie, permanently branded into that mark upon his face. Fire was Life, but he chose to believe it was Power. It just wouldn’t do. A man who chose to believe others’ interpretations of their destiny was a sad man, but a Spirit who did so was a dead one.

And this boy, who held all their hopes upon his feeble, uncrowned head, was man and Spirit, sad and dead. Not a ghost, not like the boy-Spirit hoped to believe, but worse than dead. Gone from life but preserved in memories as an untruthful clone.

But there were no other options. No faithful enough mortal, no desperate enough life. Only a boy, outcast, but not unwanted. 

* Do not struggle. * Taraqtuut imparted in the whisper of wind across snow. * I just want to talk. I already said we need you, it would be foolish of me to kill you so quickly. You are such an odd little Spirit, honest to a fault, except to yourself. I’m here to… correct that. * The firebender bit at the tendrils of mist swirling, as if expecting it to harm Taraqtuut. A snicker fell from his mouth with a sound like icicles shattering. * Stupid thing. Now, I am going to bring you somewhere safe , and you are going to listen to me. Afterall, if I wanted to kill you, I haven’t been lacking in chance. *

Likely overwhelmed by the kindness of Taraqtuut’s words, Zuko froze.

————————————

* After all, if I wanted to kill you, I haven’t been lacking in chance. *

Zuko froze, feeling the slightest tremble along his spine, tiptoeing from vertebrae to vertebrae. Chance? He’d been putting in maximum effort and the Spirit still had chances to kill him? Of course it had chances . Zuko scolded himself at his stupidity. Spirits are more than man and less than him. Stronger in everything in exchange for the weakness of morality and honour. 

Which lead to the question: why was Taraqtuut not killing Zuko when he had the chance, so less in morality that he was?

“ Then why haven’t you? ” Almost subconsciously, he imparted all the ways Taraqtuut could’ve killed him by now. Drowned in mist, ripped apart by those invisible chains, yanked his soul from his body like a fish from water. “Why do you need me?” The world tilted and turned, and Zuko wasn’t falling but the world was, dragging him with it. Every tumble shimmered and flipped trees into mirrors that stood at double Zuko’s height. Like a book’s pages turning, the grass turned and disappeared, still there just out of sight, leaving reflective silver that shivered like leaves in the wind. There was no place to look in which Zuko’s reflection went unseen, a lanky, lurking figure in black, a carved wooden Mask.

A Mask that Zuko did not put on.

—Not consciously.—

There is an element of horror that comes with actions that both deny and execute your will, a horror in realising extreme power, without restraint. A horror in realising that you have everything and nothing at once. It takes a certain mindset to take this, turn it over, mull on it, and push it out of the mind. After all, the simultaneous acknowledgement and ignorance is the only way to dim malicious joy and stopper human fear. If one cannot… well, the best example was the Fire Lord: given unprecedented power, citizens to fulfil his wishes before he was even aware of them. It was much likely that he came to the realization of his wants much at the same time as observers. And, in this modgepodge of power and unchoice (a word that only appears in such minds), the neurons are ripped apart at the seams. They did not fail due to having the power and unchoice, but instead failed in understanding it

As such, one must be both powerful and weak, decisive and ignorant. Fluid in thoughts, stubborn in keeping the unchoice and the power separate. Now, Zuko was a stubborn teen, a flame flickering even in the greatest torrent. However, a rock cannot flow .

As such, let it be known that Zuko did not have this ability, and his mind was ripped apart.

Perhaps that was not quite right, either. For all his attempts, Zuko was not his father. He had the same sharp chin and honeyed eyes, but the heart of his mother. The heart of a past Avatar. And, now, the soul of a Spirit and, as such, the basic knowledge of knowledge and unknowledge all at once. It was for this that Zuko’s mind was not ripped , but carefully pried apart, neutrons’ joined hands loosened rather than torn.

It was in these moments that he had the following realizations:

1. Zuko was not just the great-grandson of Fire Lord Sozin.
2. Zuko was not as he should be.
3. Zuko was not to be as his father thought he should be.

* I am not a Guardian Spirit, brat. * Zuko’s mind pried a bit further, a gap large enough that one could worm metaphorical—or perhaps metaphysical—fingers into the folds of fat that made his brain. * Look closely, because I will not repeat myself. * Zuko was not stubborn, this time. He wanted to be, but he didn’t know what he wanted, not quite. So he peered into the silver, his reflection rippling like droplets into puddles. With a sizzling sensation, the Mask on his face dissipated, like carbon dioxide fizzling out of carbonated water. Still there, still in existence , but out of reach. 

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Perhaps a monstrous face, fangs suitable of the Spirit the world—mistakenly, because it had to be mistaken—thought he was. But he was underwhelmingly himself. Thankfully himself. A scar marked the side of Zuko’s face and his eyes were blotchy in the way that would predict tears for anyone else, but screaming for him. The water shimmered again, rippling outwards, and the scar disappeared. For a moment, Zuko flinched, staring at smooth, pale skin and two open, alert eyes rather than one blurred from flame. His eyes were sharp as Mai’s daggers, dangerous in a way that Zuko could never achieve, not even when his ship was on the verge of mutiny. He was not Zuko, and he was not his father. He was some horrendous amalgamation of the two. The reflection’s mouth began to move, without Zuko’s say-so. * What will father do to the Avatar? * The transmission wormed through Zuko’s head in his voice, but it was not his . 

* Prevent him from stopping the Fire Nation! * Zuko’s mouth moved, but he did not speak. This was not a speaking time, he knew this in the way he shouldn’t . 

* Why? * 

* We bring culture and civilization everywhere! Education! * Zuko hissed into the reflection’s energy, annoyance twisting and writhing through the Inner Fire. The reflection was him and not him, fuelled by Taraqtuut’s chi. * We save the lands we enter! *

His reflection blinked slowly, a god sampling mortal trivialities. It did not seem to care about his answer, just moving on to another topic. * And how did he treat the last child in his care? *

Zuko shouted incoherently, stomping his foot into the reflective ‘liquid’, which only served to send slight ripples through his reflection, hurting his own foot in the process. * Don’t imply that! He gave me mercy! Mercy, dammit! *

* Is that what that scar on your face is? Mercy? * A cackle, more reminiscent of that misty Spirit’s than Zuko’s. * A little slap on the wrist before sending you on a fool’s errand? To find a person that didn’t exist until just a few months ago? *

Zuko did not care for what was proper, now. He needed to yell, needed its release the way he needed water, air, the Avatar, and impressions would not give him that. “Agni speaks through him! He knew it was my destiny! He knew it! And he gave me a chance! I didn’t even deserve it!”

* Des-tin-y .* Another amused cackle, the sound of glaciers cracking and plunging under the ice. For a moment, it made him homesick—or shipsick—for his little rustbucket, just him and his uncle and his crew. * Mortals are so silly about such things! There is no destiny ! There is choice, and there is unchoice, and there is abstinence, which is a choice and unchoice in and of itself! * Zuko unsheathed one of his dao, slamming it into the face of the reflection. For a few, blissful moments, the world was silent. Until, like ink spilt into water, colour spooled into the steel of his blade, and Zuko’s reflection stared at him again, only his eye visible, still glaringly gold. * You have no destiny, little boy-Spirit. You have guides, you have ancestors, you have expectations . But you have no destiny . Your purpose is— *

“Shut up!” Zuko stumbled away from the sword, unsure of whether or not he should return it to its sheath. “I choose this as my purpose! I will follow the path of my father, and my grandfather, and my great-grandfather!”

* So you choose the path of your father’s forefathers? *

“My forefathers! Your family is your destiny!”

* Ah ah ah! You have several forefathers . There is the great-grandfather on your father’s side , and the great-grandfather on your mother’s . Which is you ? Turning Earth molten, Water to steam? You chose your father’s path over your own. *

Choice made, Zuko ripped the sword from the ground. “What are you talking about?” The sword melted, and Zuko scrambled to drop it, but it would not fall from his hand. Silver crawled up his arm and torso, and Zuko could not scream. He could not run.

And, soon, he would not be able to breathe.

And with those few precious seconds before breathlessness, he spoke, a creaky desperate whisper. “So it was, and always will be, my fault that I was exiled? There is no plan for me? I am to be discarded, and it was for nothing, in the end?” 

The metal covered his face, and he fell.

————————————

There is time, and there is space, and then there is an entanglement of the two. Time—ordinarily—cannot exist without space, as without space there is nothing and if you have nothing you have nothing to measure time. Please note the use of “ordinarily”. Yes, time ordinarily cannot exist without space because, to mortals, time is documented by the change of the world. However, if we shift our definition of time to just represent the constant movement of souls and Inner Fire , not the change of material goods, we can create time with no space. It is in this way that the Spirit World is a spaceless time.

Where time has these restrictions, space is not regulated by the existence of time. By mortal definitions, if time was the touch of change on a place or being, then space can be timeless. The Spirit World was a place of eternal change and, as such, it was an unchanging state of change. The change must be unchanging because the change is constant, and this constant defies time. Change that never stops is regular and, thus, cannot be used to measure such mortal ideas as ‘time’. The act of understanding the logistics is fatal to the mortal mind, even damaging the minds of Spirits. You cannot imagine a dark landscape as ‘nothing’, because in having nothing but darkness to see, you must have a place, and in having a place, you have a thing. In having a physical thing, you must have a space for the thing. But how much space does a thought take up? An idea?

Regardless, these concepts are essential to understanding the Spirit World. It is a time-fuelled emptiness, defined by the movement of souls. It is a timeless space, with constant change that defines its timeless nature. It is unaffected by time, unless it wants to be, and by how much is a mystery to everyone except the Spirit World herself.

As such, due to this funny little Spirit, the Spirit World shivered in an anticipatory way, the metaphysical womb of the physical Spirit World reacting as she did so. Silvery surfaces flipped to grass to water to ice, and the sky bloomed into technicolour hues, colours uncomprehendable for the mortal or Spirit eyes. However, it was not for them that she did so.

Whatever the two were talking about, she did not know. They were too small, and she too big. In the same way a human could not understand an ant, she could not even hear their voices, only the ebb and flow of their chi.

Regardless, the little Spirit was throwing his small swords about and breathing fire… oh, she hadn’t had a firebender in ages . Fine, she had the dead, but they didn’t bend , just as her other Spirits didn’t bend , per se. But this one, so full of life and Inner Fire, so new , so stubborn … well, he was a blazing flame. Wasn’t this such a funny game her Spirits had started? Such a funny little bet ?

For a moment, just a moment, rage built in her core. The temperature raised in the Spirit World, the kind-of-trees shook. The world swayed and shook, like an Eight Ball rattled until one side raised to the surface. She would not, could not interfere. One breath from her would strip the skin from their muscle, one touch crush them to bits. She could not help, she could not interfere.

She could only hold tightly to the mortal realm and not let go .

————————————

One fall through the floor, covered in silver, and Zuko’s body folded, stretched, shrunk, wrinkled. Prickles of chi, so massively immense that fear sung in Zuko’s soul, ran along his arms, acknowledging him . If there is one thing you do not want, it is being known by a cosmically huge being. But he was.

The world did not flip or change… it shifted to a new one. It was an entirely different place and time from the Spirit World, yet interconnected nonetheless. The mortal realm was the same one he’d left, just a different tick in the circling knotted mess that was time . 

He was outside the Earth Palace, and the world spun and spun, spun and spun. Vomit crawled up his throat and he vomited straight into the well-groomed bushes that lined the garden. A small sound of shock popped through the retch-filled courtyard, and Zuko wiped his mouth to turn around. “Uncle? How did you… Where…?” He gagged again and had to pinch his lips shut.

Regardless of his befuddlement, Iroh stepped forward and enveloped Zuko in a hug, willfully ignorant of the way the teen stood, shellshocked. “Nephew. I was so worried. What—”

Zuko interrupted, the world still spinning as he pulled himself away from the man. “What are you doing at the Palace, uncle?”

“I’ve imagined myself here many times.” He looked fondly towards the massive building, so stocky in comparison to the Fire Nation one which Zuko was so familiar with. “But I’d always thought I’d be a conqueror. Instead, I—we, now—are here as the Earth Kingdom’s guests.”

“And why did the Earth King invite us to the Palace?”

Iroh smiled, knowingly. “To serve him tea, of course. Come with me, I have something for you to change into. Destiny is a funny thing.”

A choice, not fate. Zuko did not voice this. Instead, he smiled, a small fragile thing, and bowed his head lightly. “It sure is, uncle.”

It sure was.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

The Water girl—Katara—ran from the crystal cave, and Zuko stood there. Thinking. Thinking. What was his uncle saying? His lips were moving, but no words were coming out. Or, rather, Zuko was far too distracted for the words to register. 

Crystals exploded from the floor, encasing his uncle in a shining, beautiful cage.

There was no destiny.

Azula’s voice was there.

There was no destiny.

She said something. The only words that permeated Zuko’s mind were as follows: “You’re not a traitor, are you?”

He was not. But…

There is no destiny.

Stop thinking! He scolded himself and, with stubbornness ordinarily unknown, but well familiar to Zuko, wrenched himself from his own inner thoughts. “Release him.”

Azula was calculating, always calculating. She’d been calculating since the day he’d seen her, swaddled in a little red blanket, those big eyes looking adoringly at Fire Lord Ozai. She’d given Zuko an equally adoring look, pudgy little hands reaching out of the blanket, waving around to grab the little sparks that floated from the fire behind their father’s throne. Now, though, she seemed more enthralled by the Fire Lord title than their father himself, more interested in Zuko as a pawn than an older brother.

That was how their father liked it.

She wasn’t a toddler anymore, and he wasn’t the little kid who played with little knives. Now he played with big ones—though perhaps there wasn’t such a difference at all. Azula always called life and war a game , after all. “It’s not too late for you, Zuko. You can still redeem yourself.” She smiled, that sly, tricky smile that was awfully reminiscent of the Mask, which he’d slipped under his shirt once more.

But it was too late, wasn’t it? He was no exiled prince, no honourable mortal. But, he wasn’t a trickster Spirit, quite yet, was he? There is choice, and unchoice… He couldn’t abstain from this, but Zuko was never one to back away from a challenge, a look, an implication. Before he could answer, his uncle shifted in the crystals with a slight tinkling sound as the gems clinked against each other. “The kind of redemption she offers is not for you.”

“Why don’t you let him decide, U ncle ?” Azula had a way of saying the word. Zuko said the word angrily, but the actual word remained sacred, steeped in love. Azula said the word sugar-sweet, a mockery of care , meant only to jab needles into Iroh’s heart. She said it like an insult. She said it as if to remind Iroh that he was not the Fire Lord, and that she need not defer to him. “I need you, Zuko.” Zuko blinked once, twice. Azula’s head was tilted, eyes big as she looked up at him. It had been a long time since Azula had needed him.

Just three years old, Azula was the spitting image of their mother. And, with those same sad eyes, she looked at Zuko. “Zuzu, I broke Uncle’s teacups.” Zuko was only five, but he had nodded and fetched their mother, claiming guilt and begging her to fix them.

Azula had had those begging, desperate eyes then and, like every older sibling, Zuko was swayed by them now.

She turned away, as if to hide tears. “I’ve plotted every move of this day. This glorious day in Fire Nation history, and the only way we win is if we are together . You will have everything back. Everything you want.”

Everything. Could he have everything, with the touch of a Spirit on his soul, the claim of water swaying with the flame in his being? Was that even possible anymore?

Now, Iroh spoke. It was like a game of tug of war, like the push and pull of the tides, and Zuko was the one stretched beyond his limits, slammed into the rocks. “Zuko, I am begging you. Look into your heart and decide what you truly want.”

Zuko looked down. Realised. “Where is Hebiko?” Now, he looked at his uncle, watching as emotions passed over the man’s face. “She wouldn’t’ve let you leave without her.”

“She didn’t have your best interests at heart,” Iroh said, cautiously, face twisted into concern. “And you had gone to—” His uncle paused, looking towards Azula, but Zuko did not turn to face her. “Had gone, and I didn’t want you to be unsafe. The Spirits are not—” His uncle bit back the words.

The Spirits. Like…

Him. Or, him if he so chose. 

He’d choose not to be a Spirit. He’d choose, damn it, he’d choose; he’d declare his humanity like a criminal declares his innocence.

“Where is she?” Zuko said, again, gritting his teeth to stop himself from impressing the words. “She cared about me, uncle. She was helping me.” For all his efforts, the smallest impression of love was pressed into his uncle’s mind, whose eyes tightened.

Azula clicked her tongue, and Zuko turned his head to look at her. “It's your choice, Zuko.” The Dai Li behind her vanished, and she stalked from the cave, following Katara and the Avatar.

Azula was giving him a choice. Destiny wasn’t real, but he could choose to uphold it. His uncle, however… his uncle…

“What did you do to Hebiko, uncle?” Rage simmered under the words, and the temperature rose one, two, three degrees. “I’m done with fake words , and I’m done with tiptoeing , and I’m done with Spirits and their false truths that are somehow, somehow , not lies! I’m done! What did you do ?”

Iroh gestured helplessly with his hands, eyebrows pinched together as he looked imploringly at Zuko. “Zuko, I promise you, I didn’t do anything. I told her to leave. I told her she was doing more harm than good. But I did not do anything to her, Zuko. She was going to follow you into the Spirit World .”

“Shut up !” Zuko hissed, glancing towards the cave entrance. “Shut up, shut up, shut up ! I’m not a Spirit, I’m not Spirit-touched, I’m not .” Contradictions, contradictions. He didn’t know what he thought he was.

“Nephew, please, I know you do not think you are, but you are at least Spirit-touched. My brother has never been kind to those of Spirit, and I—”

“At least Azula will give me the choice,” Zuko said, and Iroh flinched back. “You never have. You always think you know better. Always .”

“Zu—”

Zuko did not listen. 

There is no destiny.

————————————

While Zuko was out there, he was a threat to Azula’s well-deserved spot as Crown Princess. At least if he was by her side, he could be monitored . After all, there were three things she could trust in this world. 1. Her skills. 2. Fear as a triumphant motivator. And 3. Zuko’s unwavering loyalty to those he deemed worthy and, by Spirits, if she wasn’t worthy.

She was worthy of it all, Agni , the Fire Nation was worthy of her . It needed her (she needed it). And the Fire Lord knew the same; he knew it. And now, she’d be returning two of the Fire Nation’s most wanted straight to her father: the Avatar, and her wayward brother, now reformed.

Now, if only she could be certain that Zuko wouldn’t escape with that traitorous former -general, that would be great. Zuko had changed ; he was not the silly boy who’d had his face burnt off any longer. But, at the same time, he was the same. Dependent, impatient, internally strife-ridden. He needed others, and he needed things quickly. He needed stability , somehow, at the same time. 

She could manage that. She could. Quickly, she rubbed at the base of her ear, and a little bit of white paint flaked off into her hand. Damned Kyoshi uniform, damned face paint, damned warriors. They were so backwards . What was makeup to do against Fire? Nothing, she knew that much. She’d even seen it for herself. Running her fingers along her hairline and face again, no more paint flaked into her hands. She strode certainly through the caves, because she didn’t need to run , dammit, a Crown Princess always timed herself. She’d been counting on instinct to ensure the Avatar didn’t get too far too fast, while her brother argued with Iroh about a ‘Hebiko’. Snake. She’d have to figure out who that was. Unknown variables were the reason people failed, just as her uncle failed to capture Ba Sing Se.

Knowing unknown variables was how she conquered it.

Knowledge held power, power was Fire, and Fire was Azula. Following that, knowledge held Azula, or maybe Azula held it. People feared the unknown, but Azula embraced it. Their predictable fear transformed them, little pawns clacking across the infinite chessboard.

It was a fine line, between known and unknown. Too unknown, and you fade into oblivion. Nobody was afraid of nothing . Too known, and you’re predictable, and nobody is afraid of what they think they can beat.

Yes, it was a fine line, and Azula was the metaphorical tightrope walker, more skilled than Ty Lee.

The small tunnel opened up into a much larger section of the cave, sunlight pouring in with a glittering waterfall. Water, she had to watch that. Their waterbender wasn’t a master, not like Azula. No one was like Azula.

The Water girl sprinted towards Azula, feet hitting the ground like droplets of water on a puddle. A mass of water rose from the river, a tsunami meant to drown.

It was like rain on a forest fire, though. How predictable .

A whip of water swerved towards her, and she dipped backwards. Never forwards, a Fire Princess didn’t bow… not even to protect herself. Others bowed to her. They needed her (she needed them). Steam exploded from her hands, filling the room with wet air. Leaping from the cloud, balls of fire fell onto the Avatar and the girl, who quickly created an umbrella of water.

I don’t know if I love or hate Water… the perfect counter, yet the Water masters are so fun to kill…

This girl was far from a master, though.

She was far from a master, just as Zuko, who leapt from the tunnel. As he stepped forward, lightly, Azula narrowed her eyes at his feet.

The way he pointed his toes before touching the ground, so soundless… it was nearly reminiscent of the Water girl, like water droplets falling into a lake. And yet, his were even more silent and smooth, eerily so. Where had her blustering, clumsy brother learnt to stalk like that?

And, more importantly, why did it make Azula’s hands feel clammy in a way they hadn’t been in years?

Silently, she heated her hands and burned away the sweat lining her palms, watching her brother carefully. Yellow eyes flicked to Azula’s, and loathing-longing stirred in her, so intertwined she could taste the bittersweetness on her tongue. Zuko had the narrow eyes of their father, pure and gold as the magma that stirred under the crust of the land. He had their father’s face, sharp and severe, while Azula sported their mother’s, all soft corners and dark amber pupils. Fate was cruel, yes, that their mother’s hated daughter looked just like her, that the failed Firebender sported the face of the most accomplished Firebender in the world.

Zuko’s eyes returned to the Avatar, who gave a little gasp, right before Zuko shot a gleaming blast of flame right at him.

Of course, Azula’s predictions were right, when were they not?

But, in that half second before the Water girl sprang into action, Azula watched her brother move forward. Fire flew from his hands, but the way he fluidly moved in and out of the movement… 

There was something unknown there, something that Azula had to figure out before it burned her.

Before she sported the same marred face as Zuko.

“C’mon, Zuzu!” She called out, jumping into the air to fire at the girl. “Let’s see the new forms Uncle taught you!” It was like the spell broke, and Zuko returned to basic movements, exhaling sharply at each punch. Good, good. A whip of water sliced by Azula as she dodged to the side, and small clippings of hair flew into the air. No.

A small growl worked its way out of her throat.

It was fine, she’d just take it out of the waterbender’s flesh .

The water slithered up the girl’s body, into extended arms that lashed at Azula. It’s fine, just shoot— The water doused her flame, coating Azula’s arm in water. Leg. Upon her kick, the second flame was swallowed, and Azula was… caught. She swivelled not-desperate, never desperate, eyes towards Zuko, who jumped upwards and slammed his flames down in an arc, cutting the girl’s water in half.

How?

Azula plastered on a smirk. My flames are hotter, stronger… how did he cut her water, when I couldn’t? How?

She glanced at her brother and froze. Fire writhed along his arms, reined in, as he lashed out with long arms of fire , just like the waterbender. Fire was power, blasted, not controlled, because Fire did not like to be caged, and yet here was her brother, with Fire on a leash. Fire, on a leash, going toe-to-toe with the same waterbender that just destroyed Azula’s flames. Air glimmered gold along his body, the air crackling, not with lightning but with power.

Azula was supposed to be Fire, Azula was supposed to be power . 

“I thought you changed!” The girl yelled at Zuko. 

“I have changed,” Zuko replied, cold in a way Zuko wasn’t . Fine, it’s fine. Zuko is deathly loyal… I’ll let this go, for now. There is one thing I can rely on: Zuko, like a dog, does not betray his master.

She wasn’t so sure, though, not anymore, and Azula was sure about everything . She turned away, blasting towards the Avatar… he was covered in the green gems of the cave, but they shattered almost instantly. She glanced back at the Water girl, who was surrounded by the Dai Li, and then at the Avatar.

Zuko had defeated her? Zuko?

Regardless, she returned to the Avatar, who quickly made himself a shelter, of sorts, out of the green gems. Stupid boy, making protection from the gems I shattered just moments ago. It was just milliseconds before the glass glowed and the Avatar blasted from the shelter, arrows and eyes aglow.

It was just seconds before Azula shot him in the back with a focused blast of lightning.

Chapter Text

“And after three long years, your prince has returned,” Lo announced, or was it Li? Zuko’d been gone from home so long he’d lost the ability to distinguish their voices. “Zuko!” 

The Prince stepped forward, face schooled into a mask of solemnity. He did not smile or wave. Fire Nation royalty did not smile or wave, unless it was out of superiority. Except Uncle. The Prince’s mind muttered, though that, too, was quickly scolded and suppressed.

The Fire Nation citizens—his citizens, one day—cheered, though it was less of a joyous affair than a unified shout. It was nothing like how the Earth's citizens rejoiced at parades and parties, tittering and milling about, an unorganised mass. 

Uncivilised . He tried to tell himself, trying to slip back into the shoes of his thirteen-year-old self. 

Genuine. His mind replied, polluted by the three years away from home. The wooden mask still chaffed his skin.

The Prince dropped his head slightly at the crowd, a grateful half-bow to his citizens, hidden from their sight. A Prince did not bow, not as much as he wished he could. As such, the hidden bow of his head was more metaphorical, with no impact on the actual. His eyes slipped towards Azula, who was watching him with a hawk’s eyes. She used to do that when she was younger: watching Zuko to figure out how she had to behave, and mimicking her brother’s movements perfectly. Now, though, it was just as curious, though not for as innocent reasons. The Prince knew that. But there was a reason she brought him here, outside of her plotting. There had to be.

————————————

Fire crackled, drumming in His metaphorical ears as it always did when He entered His nation. Ashen tastes burned through his essence, a constant reminder of the people under his care. Even in poverty, they gave what they had to Him, and for that, they would be rewarded. 

The boy-turned-Spirit-turned-Prince had his head bowed, a match submerged in the ocean, a droplet burning in a forest fire. 

Taraqtuut had failed.

That was what one got when one sent a minor Spirit to do a major Spirit’s job.

Agni crackled, snapped, and every light source in the nation surged momentarily, an endless circuit of power bounding off of the boundaries of the Fire Nation. Fire reached infinitely, an endless stream of metal monsters and pointed helms.

Taraqtuut, La’s choice, had failed , and it fell to Agni to select someone new . Fell to Him to burn reason into the boy-Spirit-Prince’s mind.

Agni’s energy wafted towards the boy-Spirit-Prince’s, burning smoke clenching the tiny spark. There. A steadiness in the flickering flame. 

————————————

“Prince Zuko,” A firm voice spoke, and Mai’s fingers fell from his scalp, where she was tracing circles into his hair with nimble fingers, deft from long hours of training. At the loss of sensation, Zuko huffed a spark-laden breath, and tea spilt from his teacup in a wave, covering his hands. More instinctively than out of actual pain, Zuko inhaled sharply, before standing. He turned to the man at the door, who kneeled, his tunic pooling on he floor. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“What?” The Prince said, about as eloquent as a hog monkey at the bottom of the ocean.

“Everyone’s waiting for you. The admirals, the high generals, the war ministers and the princess have all arrived. You’re the only one missing.” The messenger turned his face upwards, looking at Zuko like he was Agni’s own flame. “I—” The man gasped lightly. “I heard about what you did for the 41st legion. My brother went with you. He was safe when on your ship, loyal to a fault. I was devastated when he passed in the North.” The under General Zhao’s command was left unsaid.

The Prince paused, looking at the man, letting pride trickle through him for just a moment. “My fath—the Fire Lord wants me there?”

“Said he wouldn’t start until you were.” The man confirmed.

A smile sneaked onto the Prince’s face, and a matching one curled across Mai’s lips. “I’ll be back.” 

“You better.” She rolled her eyes, though the smile still sat on her face. “Go to your little meeting.” The Prince glanced at the messenger, who dutifully turned away and closed the door.

Lightly, Zuko pressed a small kiss to Mai’s cheek and fled the room, just glancing back long enough to see her press her palm to the invisible kissmark.

Servants immediately flagged him, pulling the ceremonial Fire Prince chestplate over the Prince’s head, fastening it quickly as he walked. Thankfully, they did not try and remove the simple satchel from Zuko’s hip, which held his only tether to the mortal world. Am I to live like this forever? Tied to this Agni-forsaken mask? It was a small price to pay to live , but it made Zuko want to burn something.

He’d tried to leave it in his room, but he was only able to go about a fifty metre radius away from it, and he didn’t exactly want to explain to anyone why he couldn’t leave the west wing.

Carefully, the servants avoided his hair, which Zuko pulled into an honourable topknot. As they neared the War Room, the servants quickly finished fastening the chestplate and bowed as the Prince walked away, muttering a quiet “Thank you”, which no one would ever hear.

Zuko was alone, for a few moments, staring at the curtain with a golden Fire Nation sigil melted into the fabric. A wizened, familiar voice crept through his mind. Breathe, Prince Zuko. Your Fire comes from the breath, not from your willpower. Iroh whispered, and Zuko dutifully breathed, loyal still to the old man. A warm sensation, like sinking into a warm bath, curled around him, and the Prince pulled apart the curtains, stalking to his father’s side. As he bowed deeply, his father spoke. “Welcome, Prince Zuko. We’ve been waiting for you.” The Prince was not given time to bask in the words, as the Fire Lord immediately turned towards the tables lined up in front of him. “General Shinu, your report?”

The man stood, eyes facing forward, and began to speak, but the Prince couldn’t move his eyes away from the general sitting next to General Shinu. That face haunted his nightmares, his daydreams. That was the face that sentenced the 41st to a slaughter.

That was the face that sentenced Zuko to banishment.

That was also the face that disagreed with the Agni Kai.

That was also the face that frowned at the Fire Lord, as Zuko was scarred.

That was also the face that passed Uncle a tub of burn cream, whispering that it would give some semblance of control to the muscles, explaining that it saved the general’s knee when it was accidentally burned in combat.

The face of a killer, a callous man with little regard for life.

The face of a charitable man, a concerned man who gave expensive medicine to a forsaken boy.

General Bujing shifted slightly and avoided the Prince’s eye contact. Dishonorable. Clicking his tongue quietly, the Prince returned to Shinu’s report. “We should transfer more domestic forces into the Earth Kingdom.”

“Hmm.” The Fire Lord paused and the flames behind him froze, unable to even flicker. Finally, they began to move again. “Prince Zuko. You’ve been among the Earth Kingdom commoners. Do you think adding more troops will stop these rebellions?”

The Prince looked down, eyes tracing the wooden grain, flowing back and forth like the waves against the beach. Jin’s smiling face appeared there, and Zuko breathed steadily. “The people of the Earth Kingdom are proud and strong.” Zuko was speaking, but his uncle’s voice layered on top. “They can endure anything as long as they have hope.”

*Hope…* A feminine voice whispered in his mind, and Zuko steeled his spine to avoid flinching. 

What. The. Fuck.

“Yes, you’re right.” The Fire Lord spoke, and the Prince perked up slightly, like a puppy for its master. “We need to destroy their hope.”

The Prince flinched, so similar were the Fire Lord’s words to Zhao’s on the night of the eclipse. “Well, that's not exactly what I—”

Azula smiled, cruelly, and Zuko held his breath. “I think you should take their precious hope, and all of their land, and burn it all to the ground.” It was times like these, at such grandiose statements, that Zuko was reminded that Azula really was just fourteen . She still thought such all-encompassing things like hope , something that was both fuelled and was fuelled by man, could be destroyed. 

*A child playing dress-up, cutting the heads off her dolls.* The feminine voice whispered again, and Zuko couldn’t stop himself from wincing. 

Who are you? He was careful not to impress the thought into the minds of anyone there. After all, who else could it be but another Spirit, here to play with Zuko like the aforementioned dolls .

“Yes…” The Fire Lord growled, and the Prince’s mind short-circuited. He felt a quiver, radiating through his mind, reverberating into the floor. *Calm, Zuko. Calm.* The voice whispered, and this time the Prince latched to it, trying to settle his chi. “Yes, you’re right, Azula.” Another echo reverberated through Zuko, though nobody noticed. *Breathe.* “Sozen’s comet is almost upon us, and on that day it will endow us with the strength and power of a hundred Suns.” *Blasphemy.* Zuko’s mind growled, and he instinctively impressed it into the minds of the generals sitting at the table, who flinched minutely. “No bender will stand a chance against us.”

Shinu, still standing, spoke, hand fiddling with a golden ring, enlaid with the spiritual symbol of Fire, like curling tongues of flame. “What are you saying, sir?” Momentarily, minute blue flowers flashed through his mind's eye, curling from Zuko’s hands. A rustle in his palm drew the Prince’s attention. No, no, no. A glance down revealed the unnatural flower, and Zuko had to take another deep breath. A tiny spark lit in his hand, burning the thing to ashes.

Not a Spirit. Not a Spirit .

“When the comet last came, my grandfather, Fire Lord Sozin, used it to wipe out the Air armies. Now, I will use it’s power to end the Earth Kingdom. Permanently.”

Every cup of tea shattered, the water exploding from them like the Fire tanks’ cannonballs ripping through civilian houses. The Fire behind the Fire Lord surged towards the ceiling, dancing, avoiding the fabric altogether. The War Room members shouted, burning tea splattering their arms, as Shinu pressed his ring to his lips, muttering a prayer to Agni. Did I do that?

The Fire Lord did not flinch, instead walking across the map on the table. “We will bring Fire. A Fire that will destroy… everything . And out of the ashes, a new world will be born. A world in which all the lands will be Fire Nation, and I am the Supreme Ruler of everything!”

There was applause, but no more teacups for Zuko to shatter.

And no time to wonder how he’d done it .

Altogether, they left the room. The generals milled about, but the Prince beelined for a gold-embossed pillar, in which a familiar sleeve poked around it. “Mai,” Zuko whispered, out of view of the rest of the palace. They began to walk, Mai’s arms brushing against Zuko’s.

“How’d it go?”

“Everyone welcomed me. My father saved me a seat at his right hand.”

Mai laughed, a breathy giggle that she reserved for him. “Zuko, that’s wonderful! You must be happy!”

Zuko paused in front of a towering portrait of the Fire Lord. ”I was the perfect Prince, the son my father wanted, and he was proud. But...” Pause. “I wasn’t… me.” 

Mai sighed, a soft sound that made her sound more vulnerable than bored . “I know. We’ll probably be performing for years. And it won’t stop, even if you become Fire Lord. There are expectations. I—” She paused, before continuing tentatively. “But we’ll have each other, Zuko. That's all that matters.” Mai cradled his cheek with a cold hand, forcing Zuko to look at her. “You got invited to the meeting, and look at you! Your father is proud of you, Zuko. I’m proud. You’re doing a good job, for someone who just returned from three years at sea and with the Earth Kingdom .”

Zuko laughed lightly, and they continued to walk. “And you’re doing well for someone who had to spend three years with Azula and no one else .”

————————————

There had been a scroll next to Zuko’s bed, and he had done his damnedest not to read it, but Zuko had never been one to avoid things, not in that way. And now, late at night, he was curled up in the archives, finishing reading a scroll about Fire Lord Sozin. A scroll he already knew by heart . “Where’s the rest of it?!” He shouted, to no one in particular, before storming away to an already-familiar jail cell.

“You sent this, didn’t you?!” Zuko shouted. His Uncle was curled up on the floor, grey hair stringy with grime and sweat. “I found the secret history which, by the way, should be renamed the ‘history everybody already knows’! You said I needed to know about my great-grandfather’s death, but he was still alive in the end, so unless you want me to go through the royal coroner’s reports on death from old age— ”

“No, he wasn’t.” His Uncle’s voice washed over him, and the anger ebbed away.

“What are you talking about?”

“You have more than one great-grandfather, Prince Zuko. Sozin was your father’s grandfather, your mother’s grandfather was Avatar Roku.”

“Why are you telling me this?!”

“Because understanding the struggle between your two great-grandfathers can help you understand the struggle within yourself.” Uncle spoke, and Zuko fell to his knees. “Evil and good are always at war inside you, Zuko, it is your nature , your legacy. But there is a bright side.” Zuko looked up. “What happened generations ago can be resolved now . By you . Because you’ve been chosen, Zuko, by the Spirits and by fate. Because you alone can atone for the sins of our family, and of the Fire Nation. You have the power to restore balance to the world. You are Spirit and man, Zuko, just as the Avatar is World Spirit and mortal.”

The man turned to the wall and pulled out a brick before withdrawing something wrapped in cloth. “This is a royal artefact, it's supposed to be worn by the Crown Prince.”

Zuko paused. There was no way back. *Zuko, I know you do not trust me. But you are a good man, and that does not change if you accept that you are a Spirit. You did so much for that servant’s brother, and much more when you pretended to be the Blue Spirit… a Spirit status does not change you , it only allows you to help others. This is your purpose, Zuko. You are the weight that will tip the scale either in the Fire Lord’s favour or towards peace. The Blue Spirit, from my understanding, is not a trickster but a protector. A vigilante. A good man. You are what other Spirits are not: human. Taraqtuut lost that quality, too long in the company of Spirits, but you will not. You will always stand for humanity, with or without the mask.*

The presence of the Spirit disappeared, forever nameless.

The Spirit was right. He was headstrong and stubborn. Three years at sea did not change his compassion, and his father’s strong hand hadn’t either. 

The Earth people were strong and proud, but Zuko was Fire. He was power . He was life. He was Spirit and man intertwined.

He took the artefact from his uncle’s hand.

Chapter Text

Mai,

You know as well as I do that I’m not good with words, but I will do my best here.

You’ll find out something in a few hours, and I’d rather it come from me. I’m leaving the Fire Nation. I know you’re probably worried, but it is on my own terms, this time. I can’t stay here, in this place where I am expected to pretend from Agni’s rise to His set. I am not like you… I can’t live off of small, hidden moments, I want more. 

My father will call me a traitor. He will be right. I’ll be a traitor to him, but never to my nation. Never to you.

Please know that this is all for our future, not a spur-of-the-moment decision or act of cowardice. It is not me leaving you. This is not me giving up. I’m trying to do what is right, and I know that my destiny lies on a different path. You aren’t spiritual, I know that, but I believe the Spirits have something in mind for me.

I won’t tell you where I’m going… that’ll just put you in danger. If you knew, Azula would not consider friendship more valuable than our father’s pride.

Just know, I will return.

Love,

Zuko.

His Mask upon his face, the Blue Spirit crept up the roof of a noble house, silently prying open a heavy window he’d entered thousands of times before. This time, however, he only needed to lift it enough to slip a small letter through the gap, but he hesitated. The moon looked at him, silver light glinting off his Mask. *Tui.* The Spirit slashed out with the word, as he did with his swords, piercing into the metaphysical mind of the moon. *Go suck a hog monkey’s dick.* A minor Spirit should be reverent to the majors, but that did not apply to Tui’s pawn, Tui’s pitbull in a dog-fighting ring.

The moon remained impassively in the sky, and the Blue Spirit turned away, silently cursing under his breath.

The leather gloves covering his hands were thin enough that the Blue Spirit could feel the paper’s grain as he ran a finger over the indentation of the letters. Love, Zuko. They did not say love . Just that small word would hopefully make a difference to Mai, just as it would for Zuko.

He could not say this to her in person. She would try to come with, and he couldn’t let her throw away her future if Zuko failed. She wanted adventure, but he would not give it to her. Not yet. Not when her life was at stake.

Without giving himself any more room to doubt, the Blue Spirit pushed the card through the gap and leapt away from the window, landing on the pavement silently.

I—I wasn’t able to do that before. Zuko mused, equal parts disturbed and impressed. I’m good, but not that good.

The silence was eerie. Humans weren’t meant to be silent . Human minds would crack under true silence.

You are Spirit and man, Zuko, just as the Avatar is World Spirit and mortal. The memory of the voice whispered, and Zuko exhaled slowly, before humming a song from his tsungi horn lessons.

Maybe he was human in the ways that counted.

————————————

Zuko knew the eclipse was coming.

That didn’t stop the stab of panic when Agni’s light flickered out in his chest, the rolling nausea that was only barely contained by Zuko’s splayed fingers over his mouth, holding back rancid bile. The guards just flinched, startled by the sudden darkness, and Zuko took the chance to walk towards his father, who was retching similarly to Zuko.

“My failed son, reacting so dramatically to the dimming of our inner flames.” Ozai twisted his lips into an imitation of a smile. “Are you wondering why we are so much more affected than… them?” The Fire Lord gestured a dismissive hand to the guards, who did not react. “It's because of the purity of the royal line. We are so in tune with our inner flame that when it vanishes, well, we feel it so much more severely. Even you—the weakest Firebender in the royal line—you feel its absence so keenly.” 

Zuko did not acknowledge the information to his father, though he did file it away for later. “I’m here to tell the truth.”

“During an eclipse. How brave.” The Fire Lord motioned for his guards to leave. “This should be interesting.”

“In Ba Sing Se, Azula killed the Avatar. Not me.”

Ozai raised a single eyebrow. “And why would she lie about that?”

“Because the Avatar’s still alive. And probably leading this invasion.”

The Fire Lord stood suddenly, pointing at the door. “Get out. If you know what’s good for you.”

“And that's the other thing.” Zuko paused, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not taking orders from you anymore.”

“You will obey.”

Zuko scoffed and gathered the remnants of his egoism. “Fuck off. You, asking me to obey? You , the adult who challenged a thirteen-year-old boy to an Agni Kai? How can you justify fighting a child ?”

“It was to teach respect .”

“It was cruel. It was wrong.” Zuko exhaled, the absence of sparks noticeable. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done alone. You lied . We are a great nation, yes, but this war is not a blessing to the world. Because of you, the world sees Fire as destruction . We need to fix this, we need to prove that Agni is not just a forest fire, but a hearth , too.”

The Fire Lord paused, before laughing, his mouth like a crevasse, laughter rumbling with a genuine mirth that had Zuko shaking. He hadn’t seen his father laugh like that in years, not since he was two, not yet a failed firebender. Not since the terrible Ember Island plays, his mother and the Fire Lord laughing at the Blue Spirit’s blunders.

“I’m joining the Avatar,” Zuko said.

“Full-blown traitor, aren’t we?” Ozai spoke, just as Zuko turned to leave. “Oh, don’t leave so soon! You won’t have time to hear about your mother.” The Blue Spirit froze, fingers falling to the Mask attached to his hip, hidden under bundles of cloth. “Fire Lord Azulon ordered me to kill you and I was about to do so. It would’ve cemented my place on the throne, in the future. But your mother couldn’t have that… so she proposed a plan to kill two birds with one stone: protect you and instate me as Fire Lord. She did unspeakable, treasonous things that night, things she knew the consequences of… and she was banished for it.”

“Shut up.” Zuko shuddered, the coldness spreading through his chest more than the absence of Agni. “Shut up!”

“Gladly.” Lightning sprouted from his father’s hands and blasted towards Zuko. Logically, he knew it was moving at, well, lightning speed , but he could feel the heat, slowly creeping closer, giving Zuko apt time to set up his hands, receive the energy, and blast it back, right into his father’s podium.

He did not wait.

The boy-Spirit-not-Prince walked out the door, not daring to glance back at his raging father.

——————Time Skip, Episode 13, Book 3———————

The frog creaked, unimpressed with Zuko’s antics.

“Hi, Zuko here! Though…” Zuko rubbed the Mask on his hip, comfort tingling from his fingertips to his scalp. “I guess you already know that. So!” He looked up, wide-eyed. “I have a lot of firebending experience, and I’m considered to be pretty good at it. Well, you’ve seen me…” Pause. “You know, when I was attacking you? Yeah, I guess I should apologize for that first. But, anyway, I’m good now! I mean, I thought I was good before, but now I know I was bad. And, uh, I’ve also talked to Agni and the Water Spirits, and now I know. I’m meant to be the Avatar’s firebending teacher.”

The frog croaked. 

“Well?! What’s your answer?”

It hopped away.

“Yeah, that’s what I’d say too. How am I supposed to convince these people that I’m on their side?!”

“I find it's most effective to trap them and talk to them until they start begging to be released. They tend to be more attentive, then.” Zuko spun around to face the voice, where a ton of long, pill-like things piled into a singular mass, and then into a beautiful woman. “Oh, sorry. I remember you don’t much like reminders of Spirits. I’ll speak normally, if that would help.”

“You—” Pause. “You’re the voice in my head!”

“Yes, Zuko.” She tossed her lengthy bubble braids over her shoulder, each bubble the same shape as the pill-things that she came from. “I do have better things to be doing than babysitting you, so I would like to make this brief. Join the damn Avatar. We don’t have time for teenage angst.” The Spirit smirked. “Or baby Spirit angst.”

That would’ve given him some length of said angst before, but Zuko ignored it this time. “Will you be more helpful?”

“What, you want some healthy exposition?” The Spirit asked, stretching upwards with a groan as her back cracked. “Fine, ruin the mystery: you’re a Spirit. Spirits are not gods , but exceptions to nature. You can’t die , per se, but you can be killed, y’know? You return to the Spirit World and sleep for a thousand years, kind of killed . Yada yada ya.”

“That explains nothing .”

“I’m not a guardian Spirit, kid. Figure it out. I’m just hear to deliver a small message.” The not-a-guardian-Spirit lightly patted Zuko on the head, her towering height making it easy to ruffle his hanging hair. “Find your purpose, outside of being the Avatar’s teacher. Without a purpose , you’re just a man, attached to a silly little theatre Mask.”

“Purpose?”

“Ugh, baby Spirits are so useless . Here, silly boy.” She flicked her fingers, and energy surged through the air, striking into something in the distance. “Find your purpose .” She confirmed, and fell apart into those pill-shaped things again, getting smaller and smaller before vanishing. And then the screams started.

And Zuko was running.

Mask . The Blue Spirit thought, wanted, needed. And it appeared on his face, clothes flipping, but not disappearing, into a black tunic and pants, leather gloves unfolding from cloth cuffs. Small flowers bloomed from his footsteps, smoke unravelled from the tips of his fingers, and he could feel something. It. A tug in his chi, yanking the Blue Spirit towards someone who needed him. A young girl, tears flowing as freely as the river around her, clutching a rock that poked out of the river. “Help! Please!”

He should be going to speak to the Avatar. Instead, he nodded vigorously, glancing around the forest while the girl's fingers slipped further and further, her screams reducing into gurgles of water. Fuck, uh, no rope, no pole to grab them, no sticks that are strong enough… His eyes slid to the thick tree trunks, one tree situated so perfectly to become a… bridge .

His dao couldn’t cut through that, could it?

Spirits are not gods, but exceptions to nature.

Zuko pressed his energy into the blade of his dao, the same way he impressed thoughts into minds, and swung as hard as he could at the base of the tree.

1.

2.

3.

Snap.

————————————

Spirits were nasty buggers that had to be avoided at all costs, and this one was no exception. Honestly, priests and priestesses were probably the stupidest humans of the bunch, serving monsters and disguising it as faith .

The blue-masked demon sliced through the ancient tree with a single strike, sending it crashing down towards Kaiya with an unforgiving vengeance. If her mouth was above water, she would’ve screeched, but all she could do was gasp in more freezing liquid, lungs burning and fingers searingly numb. The water crashed over Kaiya’s head again, and her fingers began to slip on the slimy, wet algae coating the rock. The demon hopped on top of the fallen tree, stalking towards Kaiya with an eerie grace, horrid, pointed-tooth smile leering at her limp body.

It was in that moment that Kaiya had to decide: the demon, or the river?

Her grandmother spoke of those who the Spirits hated: strung up on trees for years, always eating and always hungry, cursed to be deaf, blind, and unable to feel, just wandering through life. 

Her grandmother also spoke of those favoured by the Spirits: married and forced to carry a half-breed baby, forced to be the pawn of wretched games, taken away from friends and family.

Spirits, there were probably infinite examples of such things.

It was with these stories thrumming through her head that she looked up at the Spirit’s grinning face and outstretched hand and let go of the rock. 

Bubbles swirled around her head, but she did not fight this time. She would not be with a Spirit , she would not be a game. She would go on her own terms. Light ebbed and swayed above her, a mosaic of blue shimmers and flashing light. She could almost forget that she was going to drown.

She was, though.

Kaiya shut her eyelids, exhaling slowly as the current pulled her further away from the demon, away from her village.

She would die.

Until… something grabbed her.

Kaiya whirled around to see the blue-masked demon gripping her dress, and she fought. She scratched and clawed at its inhuman arms and kicked at its legs until she finally hit it’s groin, but the Spirit did not release her. Instead, it yanked her above water, and threw her onto the shore, heaving itself out afterwards. She would’ve ran, if she had thought she would be able to get away. Instead, she dropped to the floor in a bow, forehead pressed into the muddy ground.

“Thank you, oh Spirit,” She said, fumbling to remember the courtesies ground into her head, years ago. “I understand that you have done me a gr—a great service, but do not take me. Please.” There was no response, and so Kaiya peeked upwards. Steam swirled around the demon, clothes fluttering in invisible winds. The mist curled around it, a willful servant… though its movements seemed more loving, like that of a parent.

“Kaiya!” A chorus of voice came from the distance, though they steadily got louder. “Kaiya, where are you?!”

Kaiya did not move to call for them, and instead pushed her face back into the floor. “Kai—” The familiar voice was close, so close, and Kaiya had to choke back a sob. Would this be the last time she heard her grandmother’s voice? Would the Spirit be so generous as to let her say goodbye? “Spirit, please, what is it that you need?” Kaiya looked up again, to her grandmother who stood between Kaiya and the demon. The Spirit glanced at her, and then back to her grandmother. “No! No, please, not Kaiya. Please .”

The demon shook its head fervently, stepping back lightly. It moved its head, as if speaking without volume. Kaiya glanced backwards, where the village adults, and some kids, watched nervously, before eyeing the demon. Tentatively, watching the Spirit for any dislike, she crawled to her hands and knees, before standing up. “You… just decided to save me?” Kaiya ventured, to which the Spirit nodded sharply. Now, Kaiya took another look at the Spirit. It was thin and wiry, a human’s body, with two swords sheathed on it’s back. The Mask was intimidating, yes, but it did not seem cruel , not upon analysing it. In fact, the wooden eyes seemed soft and understanding… caring, almost. Never thank a Spirit. Her grandmother’s voice whispered. It binds you, proves you owe them. “Thank you.”

Her grandmother flinched, but seemed to calm when the Spirit relaxed, flowers sprouting from it’s feet. They were small and blue, the same hue as the Mask, with delicate petals like… flames. “What can we give you?” The Spirit shook it’s head, but when Kaiya’s grandmother stiffened, seemed to slouch. It thought and the sounds of it rubbing its wooden smile emphasized the silence. Finally, decision made, the Spirit tapped the blue of its Mask. “A mask?”

Kaiya shook her grandmother’s shoulder lightly. “Something blue, for the Blue Spirit.” She said, loudly, and the Spirit nodded. Tentatively, Kaiya reached into the satchel, hidden under her dress, and dug until her fingers touched cloth, which she withdrew. It was originally a simple blue bandanna, but she’d embroidered it with hundreds of blue forget-me-nots, until the fabric was stiff from the thread. She’d been adding to it for years, now, a way to soothe herself when food got thin, or when Fire Nation soldiers raided the village. Now, bandanna in hand, she tiptoed towards the Spirit—the Blue Spirit— and tied the fabric around its offered wrist.

At that, the Spirit bowed and sprinted across the fallen tree, fading from sight within moments.

Yes, Spirits were nasty buggers , but there was one exception, the Blue Spirit, who saved her from the river.

And Kaiya, gathering tiny blue flowers to plant in her village, became the Blue Spirit’s first priestess.

Chapter Text

The eclipse was over, and Aang had accomplished nothing. The Western Air Temple was the same level of deserted as every other abandoned temple, but it still shocked him. He should’ve been used to the absence of running kids and scolding elders after all the empty sanctuaries, but something inside him always hoped that he’d meet another Air nomad.

He was being unreasonable in a way the Avatar couldn’t be, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to be unreasonable.

The halls of the temple were meant to echo with life and laughter. There was none. It was silent.

“This is so different from the Northern Air Temple.” Teo looked up, surveying the hanging buildings of the Western Air Temple. Aang bit back a retort about the Northern Air Temple , something he’d practised much more since Teo joined the group for the eclipse. It didn’t help that Haru kept commenting on how cool the new Northern Air Temple was. It's fine, it's fine. He isn’t being malicious. Teo just hasn’t seen a traditional temple. Not really. “I wonder if there are any secret rooms.” Immediately, Aang’s sourness lightened.

Haru grinned and started to jog towards the nearest building, smiling towards the group. “Let’s go check it out!” The Duke and Teo began to quickly follow the taller boy, their laughter so reminiscent of the joy that had echoed through the Air Temples years ago that Aang’s legs started to move without his say-so, his mouth echoing that same excitement. 

Until Katara blocked his path with his glider, waving goodbye to the rest of the group. “You guys go. I think we need to talk about some things.”

————————————

Sokka cleared his throat from Appa’s saddle, and Aang glanced back, fingers wound tight around his glider. “Aang, I think we should be making some plans for the future.”

“Okay, we can do that while I show you the giant Pai Sho table!” Aang needed this, he did. He needed to show them this tiny, preserved sliver of his life, the one temple still unmarred by burn marks and skeletons, crisscrossing pipes and machinery. “Oh! You’ll love the all-day echo chamber.”

Toph did not move, her face set in a stony mask. “I think that’ll have to wait.” With the same dramatic fanfare that she once used to point at her Earthfighting opponents in the ring, her finger swerved to pinpoint something behind her… a tall, lanky teen, with a scar over his eye.

Katara stiffened, stepping in front of Aang and hovering her fingers over the flask on her hip. Zuko stepped forward, out of the shadows of the pillar, and smiled . By now, Aang had long associated the sight with capture  and with fleeing for his life. “Hello.” The Fire Prince said, still smiling eerily. “Zuko here.” The group didn’t wait for the eventual ambush or the surprise attack Zuko was likely planning. Instead, in unison, they each brandished their hands or, in Sokka’s case, weapons and prepared for the oncoming onslaught. “I heard you guys flying around down there, so I thought I’d wait for you here.”

In answer, Appa stretched open his jaw and let out a rattling roar , to which Zuko leaned away, before licking him. Sokka gasped. “No! Bad Appa! Don’t lick the guy that tried to fucking kill us!” The older Water Tribe boy did try and limit his language around Aang, but sometimes it got the best of him. Usually, Aang would chide him in a mockingly old voice, mimicking Monk Gyatso’s joking Language! , but this time he could only stare, wide-eyed, as Appa licked Zuko again.

And Zuko didn’t move, just stood there, as if resigned to his fate.

Appa was Aang’s counterpart, his most trusted friend, though maybe friend wasn’t the right word. They were two halves of a whole, unable to exist without the other. And here Appa was, supporting Zuko. Why? Instinctually, Aang dropped his staff just an inch lower, still ready for an attack but not threatening one of his own.  

“I know you must be surprised to see me here,” Zuko said, wiping off bison slobber from his face, though his long hair remained gelled upwards from Appa’s tongue. 

Sokka leaned forward, the tips of his ears reddening in annoyance. “Not really, considering you’ve chased all over the world.”

Zuko paused. “Right. Well, uh,” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know that I’ve changed. And, I’m… good now? And I think I should join your group. And Agni does too, I think. I’ll teach you firebending?”

He wants to teach me firebending? Aang paused. And Agni wants what ?  

Agni, the Fire Nation’s Spirit . His mind supplied, unhelpfully. Though they don’t speak to him, but believe that communication with Agni comes from strengthening and training with their Inner Flame.  

“You want to what now ?” Toph demanded, breaking Aang’s droning inner monologue. 

Katara scoffed. “You can’t possibly think that any of us would trust you!” Aang glanced over, where Katara’s hand rubbed at the minute, carved flask at her side, which once carried the Spirit water that saved Aang. “How stupid do you think we are?! All you’ve done is lie and try to hunt down Aang!”

“I’ve done some good things! I could’ve used your bison as bait in Ba Sing Se, but I set him free! That’s something!” Zuko yelped as said bison ran its tongue over his Fire Nation clothes. 

Toph blinked. “Appa does seem to like him.”

“He probably covered himself in honey so that Appa would lick him.” Sokka splayed a skeptical hand towards Zuko, and Aang watched him. “I’m not buying it.”

Zuko’s hair hung over his eyes as he tilted his head down, and Aang took the chance to survey him. Something was… off. 

Back at the caves (at Aang’s improv almost-tomb), there was something a bit odd with Zuko. The way his joints swivelled, the inhuman push and pull of the elements. The same push and pull when Aang merged with La at the North Pole, the same push and pull of Koh’s faces. But that odd sway , like the twists of steam and dancing of flame, had vanished quickly, both from Zuko’s movements and from Aang’s mind. It was the same fluidity that Zuko donned with his Blue Spirit persona, but amplified in the way glass magnified the sun. 

He could see it again now. It wasn’t anything concrete, just the knowledge that there was something different, but Aang had no clue what it was. But he had no time to wonder, as Zuko spoke again. “Look, I know I’ve done some awful things. It was wrong of me to try and capture you, and I’m sorry I attacked your tribe.” Zuko ruffled his bangs. “And I never should have sent that Fire Nation assassin after you.”

Sokka’s chest puffed up, his cheeks filling with air before he shouted at Zuko, brandishing his boomerang. “You sent Combustion Man after us?!” 

Toph swiped her hand through the air. “That guy locked me and Katara in jail, and tried to blow us all up!”

Zuko scowled at the floor before looking to Aang. “Why won’t you say anything? You once thought that we could be friends .”

Aang looked between his friends and Zuko, his fear warring with the Air Nomad teachings of forgiveness. He was not one to fight; that was not what he was taught. He didn’t want to take a stand, not yet. 

But sometimes, one didn’t have the option. Sokka locked eyes with Aang and shook his head slowly. “We can’t trust you, not after everything you’ve done. We’ll never let you join.” There was a sound of something exploding behind them. Stupidly, Aang spun away from Zuko, staring at the water rocketing from the fountain, falling over them in a cold wave that seeped through their clothes.

Aang turned back, after what must’ve been seconds, and Zuko was gone.

————————————

People liked to ask Toph what the world looked like, as if she had some frame of reference to compare it to. She only had the nothingness before the badgermoles and the sensing after .

If she had to compare her “sight” to her other senses, she’d say it was most similar to touch . In the same way the Earth felt one walk along its surface, Toph could feel it , like an extended crawling over the skin. 

It wasn’t over her arms, or any body part she had, but she could feel it nonetheless.

And, in the same way, she should ’ve felt Zuko’s presence seamlessly, but it kept fluttering, in and out, like he was somehow jumping on and off the ground… sort of like how Aang had flown around the Earth Rumble arena. It was more stable now, making it clear that the Fire Nation teen was lying on the ground, asleep and twitchy. But before, she’d had to push all her focus into the Earth he stood on if she wanted to “look” at him. She hadn’t been able to focus on anyone else.

That focus now was probably why she accidentally stepped a bit too heavily on a twig, startling Zuko into a seated position. “Who’s there?” He called out. As panic slipped into his voice, the weird fluttering moved faster, and Toph rubbed at her throbbing head. She opened her mouth to speak, but sudden heat reverberated through the ground. “Stay back!” Zuko shot a flame directly at her, the difficulties of sensing firebending worsened by the glitching, and she quickly threw up an earthen wall.

“It’s me!” And her feet burned.

How could she explain the absolute horror as pain seared itself into every surface of her feet, the only way for her to “see” the world? The only connection she had to her element? It was like taking a fire ferret and dumping it in the darkest depths of the South Pole ocean. “You burned my feet!” Toph was on her back, hands rooted into the Earth quickly grabbing any information as she crawled away, slinging rocks behind her at her enemy. Fuelled only by adrenaline, she stood on her bubbling, burning feet and began to sprint back to the Western Air Temple. Branches ripped through her skin, and roots cut through her tender, skinless soles.

There was talking, in the distance, the sounds of life that she’d come to associate with the morning. 

Not being able to see with your feet stinks.

————————————

Of course, Zuko burned Toph the first chance he had. It was starting to seem like he was intent on branding every member of Team Avatar. 

Come . Katara commanded—not whispered—to the water. She hadn’t whispered to water since the North Pole. Water was the element of change, yes, but it was slippery. Give an inch, and it’d take a mile. Earth was known for stubbornness, but it took a certain degree of strong-headedness to subdue something that loved freedom.

Katara’s first instinct when faced with Toph’s blistering feet was to set her by the fountain that she’d used to practice when they’d first arrived, but the had exploded. Aang and Sokka seemed to think it was her doing, but she wasn’t that much of a novice, not anymore. You explode one ancient iceberg—

Regardless, she only had a bit of water in her flask. The water in Katara’s flask knew her well. It wouldn’t disobey her, not excessively. So though she would prefer to have more of it, she would take what she could get. 

“Zuko’s clearly too dangerous to be left alone.” Sokka mused, getting ready to pick Toph up with Aang. “We’re gonna have to go after him.”

“I hate to look for a fight… but you’re right.” Aang looked down at the stone floor, as if guilty that Zuko just being in Aang’s presence hadn’t suddenly redeemed the psychopath. “After what he did to Toph, I don’t think we have a choice.”

Sokka nodded, lifting Toph. “He’s crafty, but we’ll find a way to catch him.”

Katara scoffed. “Crafty? He’s crazy, Sokka.” She drew out her water. “Put Toph on the fountain.” The earthbender sat on the remnants of the water basin, feet swinging as she waited for Katara to start healing. “Besides, did you hear what he was saying about somebody wanting him to join us? I think he’s plotting something, maybe even with that assassin.”

Aang kneeled next to her, peering at Toph’s broken skin. “I agree that he shouldn’t join, but I don’t think he’s working with an assassin. The ‘person’ he mentioned was Agni .” Katara paused and glanced over at Aang while Sokka sat next to Toph. “He’s their Spirit, so to speak. Sort of fuels all of the Fire Nation. When I was…” Aang’s voice faltered. “Before, they believed that the best way to represent Him was by practicing and mastering firebending, but when I attended that Fire Nation school, it changed a bit. Most of the teachers and students believed that the only way to empower Agni was by expanding Fire Nation territory and influence. Mastering fire only helped that cause, rather than being the main focus.”

“Sounds like a shit Spirit,” Sokka grumbled, and Aang and Katara gave him warning looks.

Katara’s lips pursed. “Didn’t you listen to Gran Gran?”

“Don’t anger the Spirits, Sokka,” Aang warned, simultaneously. 

They both looked at each other until Katara continued soothing Toph’s feet. Toph was speaking, but this was the tricky part. Soothing was easy. Water instinctively soothed burns, happy to tend to the effects of its opposite element. But healing?

Opposite to what Aang and the rest of the group believed, the Water itself didn’t heal. More so, Water was a conduit for Katara’s energy, which filled the missing energy from injuries. Katara couldn’t create energy, as that was a talent far beyond any human feat, but she could move hers. It was the same concept when waterbending: she couldn’t telekinetically move water, but instead imbued it with her essence , which made the water a little more suggestible.

Thankfully, the burn wasn’t that deep, and Katara only had to take the top scrapings of her chi to regrow Toph’s skin, the fresh layer soft and pink. The earthbender would definitely complain about her missing callouses, but that was Toph’s way of affection: she complained, and she expected, and that was how she cared .

————————————

Shun stood at the edge of the cliff, eyes locked onto the Avatar, power radiating from the eye tattooed onto his forehead.

“Your name appeared to me in a dream.” His mother swept the hair from his eyes, pressing her thumb to the middle of his head, where an eye would be tattooed in just a few hours. Bandages wrapped what was left of his right arm and leg, but the missing limbs just proved proficiency . “You are special, Shun, Spirit-chosen.”

He was chosen and, while the tattoo on his head still leaked and ached, not even a hair on his chin, he was given his first assignment. It was simple, a shot through a window, and Shun was leaving one job lighter and a hundred gold heavier.

His guilt also weighed heavily, but not as heavily as the gold. And, eventually, it sidled away to nothing.

The Avatar looked to be about the same age as Shun, when he got his tattoo. Regardless, the boy’s future was not worth the 10,000 gold the Fire Lord had offered. Maybe it was more merciful, though, to take the Avatar out. This way, he did not have to suffer at the hands of the Fire Lord.

One could be certain the Avatar would not die quickly, in the Fire Nation… Shun knew one thing for certain: the Fire Lord did not want another reincarnation.

Shun, meaning speed. He was fast, yes, but not fast enough to shoot before the ex-Prince launched himself onto Shun’s back, moving his accurate shot into nothing more than what looked like a cheap pyrotechnic explosion. Rocks shot in every direction, and in seconds, the Avatar’s group was on the move.

Great.

“Stop!” The scrawny teen shouted, hands fisted angrily at his sides. “I don’t want you hunting the Avatar anymore!” The boy ran in front of Shun, who didn’t even bother to look down, still watching the Avatar. “The mission is off! I’m ordering you to stop!”

Shun held back a silent laugh at this presumptuous child who seemed to think that he commanded Shun. Instead, he pushed the ex-Prince aside with a large hand, flinging him to the ground. Quickly, pressure gathered in the skin under his forehead, ballooning with chi before it was dispelled through the tattooed pupil, smashing into the already-cracked fountain.

“If you keep attacking, I won’t pay you!” The young fire bender ran at Shun, yellow flames streaming from his fingers, while Shun held him at arm’s length. He really didn’t want to hurt the boy, he wasn’t violent . But he was getting in the way… “I’ll pay you double to stop!” As if the estranged traitor could pay Shun that large of a sum. In response, he gathered his chi again and shot at the bald head peaking out of the rubble. The boy hit him again, and Shun sighed, turning to him and gathering energy in his forehead. The firebender’s eyes widened, and he conjured up a yellow, flaming shield, just as Shun blasted at him. 

The Prince went flying backwards, right off the platform, and Shun turned back towards the Avatar, who was sprinting, and he let off another shot. The damned Airbender jumped into the air, floating on the wind.

It went on like that for minutes, the Avatar running, Shun shooting somewhat erratically in an attempt to estimate where the boy would be next.

Until something hard and blunt smashed into his forehead, just before he could shoot, and the bottled chi reverberated through his face, trying to find a conduit. Quickly, eyes blurring and forehead aching, Shun lined up, took the shot…

There is a law that everything that you put out into the universe will always come back. A law that all energy comes from somewhere, and all energy will one day return there.

It is for these laws that Shun should’ve one day expected that he, too, would die from his own chi.

That he would go in the same way as all those people did.

Chapter Text

When the boomerang hit Shun in the head, Zuko snorted, well aware of the odd amount of pain that could originate from such a blunt object. The first time he’d been faced with the Water boy’s weapon of choice, he’d thought it savage, but he’d been defeated by it enough now that he knew otherwise.

Yep, Zuko thought it was hilarious. Until Shun blew himself up, chunks of his skull like the ice spikes the waterbender favored, blood splashing against the walls in a morbid mockery of a mural. A flash of light seared itself into Zuko’s eyes, burning and hot, and he could feel the acrid smoke creeping up his nostrils and curling around his eyes. Something squishy landed on his cheek, but was gone by the time he raised his hand to wipe it away.

Once the smoke cleared—and Zuko was well enough to open his eyes—he blinked out the foggy film that coated his corneas and stared at the spot where Shun once was .

Zuko was a soldier, he’d been faced with death before. Thousands of soldiers, lying on the battlefield, crushed or suffocated in Earth, drowned or frozen in Water. He’d seen the flattened corpses of soldiers that fell off cliffs at the hands of the Avatar, though it wasn’t Aang’s fault. It was war: the soldiers attacked, and Aang was free to defend himself.

It didn’t comfort the soldiers’ families, though.

It certainly didn’t comfort him when he realised Aang probably didn’t know , still roleplaying as a pacifist monk in a temple. 

Zuko glanced at his clothes, expecting to see darkened splashes of red across his Fire robes, but there was nothing. Not a drop on his hands, not a smear on his shoes. Nothing.

I don’t know what I have to thank for that, luck or Spirithood, but I appreciate it nonetheless . Zuko did not direct the thought towards anyone. He didn’t want Tui or La getting the idea that he appreciated their meddling.

Zuko slipped back towards the Temple as casually as he could, where Aang stood with his head bowed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.” The Avatar said, hesitantly, glancing around as if expecting some prankster to jump out and say ‘Got you!’ “But thanks, Zuko.”  

The Water boy—Sokka—placed his hands on his hips, mock annoyance lilting on his tongue. “And what about me? I did the boomerang thing!”

Zuko did not mention that the boomerang thing just made Shun blow himself up, and that Sokka just killed a man . Or, at the very least, forced said man to commit suicide. “Listen, I know I didn’t explain myself well yesterday. I’ve been through a lot—” Zuko held up his hand for a moment. “—and that's not me trying to make excuses. But I had to go through all that to realise the truth.” The truth that I’m a Spirit, now, human and inhuman, something that the Avatar and the group cannot find out. “I thought that I had lost my honour, and that my father could return it to me, but I see now that you cannot be given honour. It is earned by doing what is right . I, just like Agni and the Spirits, want to end this war.” Pause. “I know my destiny is to help you restore balance to the world.”

Aang cocked his head at Zuko, who shifted and turned his head at the intense stare. “I’ve never heard firebenders speak of Agni like that.” Zuko jerked his head up again. “I thought you all believed that Agni was alive within you, not a separate being.”

Blood heated his ears and the back of his neck. Even Fire citizens didn’t talk about their connection with Agni… it was personal, private. He was within everyone, He was an outward, omnipotent being. He was both, and neither, at the same time. Zuko liked to look at it as Agni—the Inner Fire—being the fuel, Agni—the Being—being the flame that appeared, and firebenders as the tender of the flame. 

The flame cannot be lit without the fuel, the fuel will not persist without the tender, and the tender will suffer without the flame. It was a continuous circle, and all were separate but intertwined.

“Yes,” Zuko confirmed, to which Aang tilted his head, confused, before turning to the earthbender. He brought his index, pointer, and thumb together, in the hand symbol for Fire, and bowed deeply towards the girl. “I’m sorry for hurting you. It was an accident. Fire can be dangerous and wild, so as a firebender—” As a Fire Spirit. “—I need to be more careful with my bending, so I don’t hurt people unintentionally.” The earthbender nodded, and Zuko returned his hands to his sides.

Aang’s shoulders loosened. “I think you’re meant to be my firebending teacher.” Sokka swung to face the Avatar, mouth dropped open in shock. Close your mouth, nephew. You’ll let flies in! Uncle’s voice chimed, and Zuko had to stop himself from repeating it. “When I first tried to learn firebending, I burned Katara.” Katara gave Aang a sympathetic look, but scowled when Zuko gave her a similarly sympathetic one. He’d been burned countless times, one of the joys of learning firebending. It was never painless, not even with the ones that only reddened. “I never wanted to try again. But, I’d like for you to teach me.”

That was a big step. After the Fire Lord burned him, it’d taken a full year to light a fire larger than a candleflame, and that was as someone who’d been firebending for years . Aang formed the same Fire hand symbol, bowing to Zuko, and Zuko did the same.

Respect was not something taken or given freely. It was earned. “Thank you. I appreciate you letting me join your group.” Zuko smiled, a crooked thing that had taken years to defeat, and which immediately returned upon his defection.

“Not so fast,” Aang said, and Zuko flinched. “I need to ask the rest of the group.”

“This isn’t a dictatorship.” Sokka joked, though Zuko could see exactly what the boy thought of the Fire Nation in the joke. “But, yeah, if you think this is the way to defeat the Fire Lord, I’m all for it. ”

Aang smiled. “Toph, you were burned by him. What do you think?”

“Well…” Zuko held his breath. The earthbender—Toph—had supported him before, but would she now? After Zuko burned her feet and chased her from his camp? “Why not? I need to pay him back for burning my feet.” Toph smashed her fist into her open palm, but a playful grin slid across her face, so maybe Zuko was safe. 

Maybe. 

Aang turned to the last member. “Katara?”

The waterbender stared at Zuko. He’d seen that look before, in Azula, after a servant spilt ink on her red Fire Princess garbs. It was red by the end of the night, after Azula pulled the quaking girl into her private quarters. 

Zuko never saw the servant again.

He did see a custodian carting a bag from Azula’s room, though. A heavy bag, with a dark, spreading stain on the bottom of its dark brown cloth.

She moved the piercing glare to Aang, though it softened by a few degrees. “I’ll go along with whatever you think is right,” Katara emphasized the you , casting another glare towards Zuko.

————————————

Zuko knew he was sleeping, which is how he also knew something was up . This was Spirit stuff, most certainly, and that instinctually called his Mask to perch on his face. Immediately, his mind soothed itself, comfort seeping in from the merging with his missing half.

*We’ve already seen your face, little racehorse.* Tui swum-floated-pushed in the air, a pulsing beam of energy and a curling leviathan. 

*What do you want?* Zuko sent out the thought in a slicing motion, pushing himself off the not-real bed to move closer to Tui’s metaphysical morbidly curious eyes and snapping teeth. *I’m not human, anymore, so I’m not your property.* He’d found that vocal words were impossible while the mask was on, with that young girl in the river. That was fine, he didn’t need to speak. He never had before.

*Codominance.* La pulled Zuko’s consciousness into Theirs, wrapping Their thoughts around him. *A concept in which two traits are equally expressed in an organism. Codominance. A concept in which two things can coexist without taking anything away from each other. The body and the soul.* 

*Body, soul, body, soul.* The Blue Spirit cut himself from the strands of La’s consciousness, the taste of blueberries fading on and off his tongue. He could smell something sweet and acrid, like the burning of fire floss. *Broken records. Is that all you ever say? Is that all you have to contribute?*

La grabbed Zuko’s inner , Their hissing like the crashing of the waves against gravel beaches, the sound of rocks eroding and fire sizzling out. *You may be a Spirit, boy, but you are not invulnerable. There are worse things in the world than a man .* Zuko’s energy ebbed in and out, sputtering in the metaphysical iron grip of La, until They let him crash to the floor of the dream realm.

Zuko pulled his hands together in the symbol for Fire and bowed, deep as he could, tenderly pressing regret into the energies of La and Tui. *Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry.* His impressions were illiterate and clumsy, like the voice of a child, too scolded to remember how to apologize, only that they needed to.

Tui snapped Their not-real teeth, and Zuko could see a menacing grin that wasn’t really there, but might as well of been. *Funny, funny. I bet on a greyhound with some bark .* Tui’s leviathan shook and coiled around him, not real, but Zuko could feel Their wet scales. *No bite, though… de-teethed, de-clawed. Gummy, gummy, funny, funny.* Something reverberated through the scales wrapped around him, something that was supposed to be laughter but wasn’t.

*What do you need?* The Blue Spirit pointedly did not slash this impression into their energies, and just placed the question into their minds like how a child presses a sticker to their parent’s hand. 

*Agni has finally stopped being so anal about keeping you to Himself…* Tui put Zuko’s head into Their metaphysical mouth, and Zuko had to stop himself from flinching at the scrape of teeth against his throat. Finally, Tui removed Themself. 

*Water is the element of patience. It takes years for a rock to erode, but even the toughest will yield.* La’s energy soothed itself into the whisper of sand shifting under one’s feet. * You do not have years to erode that dense layer around your mind. As such, we’ve moved to more… extreme methods, so to speak.*

Zuko did not speak, just waited. Patience. Patience. 

Finally, La pulled Zuko’s conscience into Theirs. *You are not just a Fire Spirit, boy. You are born in Fire, reborn in Water.*

*So…?*

La swirled around Zuko’s metaphysical body, like a sailor in the middle of a whirlpool. *You know what I am to tell you. It would be redundant to repeat it. The Water child is one of ours. She will know what to do.*

Zuko did not ask what they were talking about. It would be ‘redundant’. *Codominance?* He asked, instead. Water did not push, it flowed, and that was something La was sure to respect. 

Metaphysical light that Zuko could not see, but felt, shined, proving him to be right. La wrapped around Zuko even tighter, like a noose or blanket. *Codominance. Not half human, half Spirit. Both. The Ocean is both a mode of transport and a source of food.*

Tui pushed into La’s consciousness. *The Moon is both a light source and a wave-maker.*

*And I am both human and Spirit? Fire and—* His metaphysical voice faltered at Water , his loyalty to his element far more than his fear of the Spirits’ wrath.

*Maybe you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.* Tui pushed the thought into Zuko.

*He is not an old dog anymore, Tui. He is a baby, reborn.* La tilted the room, throwing Zuko to the other side. *And the best thing about babies? You can always make another one.*

La took hold of Zuko, and Tui pushed hard, launching Zuko from the dream hard enough to send his physical body falling to the floor.

What did it say about Zuko that, when he woke up on the hard floor, he easily returned to his day, unbothered by the dream? More so, what did it say about Zuko that he’d rather deal with one constipated Ocean Spirit and one childish Moon Spirit than face Katara and the like?

Aang stood across from him, yellow robes flying in the wind. Zuko cleared his voice, attempting to imitate Uncle’s tone and words. “I know you’re nervous, but firebending, in and of itself, is not something to fear.” 

Aang sighed. “Okay. Not something to fear.”

“But, if you don’t respect it, it’ll chew you up and spit you out like an angry komodo rhino!” Zuko growled loudly, to which Aang flinched. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got? Any amount of fire you can make.”

The airbender took some deep breaths before lunging to the side and thrusting his hand forward, producing the tiniest puff of smoke. He looked over at Zuko, sheepishly. “Maybe I need a bit more instruction. Perhaps a… demonstration?” 

Zuko nodded sharply and gestured for Aang to take a few steps back. Habitually, he formed the movements of the most basic kata he could think of, and produced a burst of flame a little less than a meter long.

What. The. Fuck. 

————————————

The Sun Warriors’ ruined city was a sight to behold, with the same arches and pointed spires of Caldera. The hot stone beneath their feet was smooth and almost untouched by time, and the buildings had held up remarkably well for their age. There had to be dozens of booby traps that they’d narrowly avoided on the way through, but they were finally in the center of the city. A massive engraved mural was carved into the brick wall, with dual dragons breathing flames onto a Sun Warrior in the middle. Chips of red paint still perched in the stone chippings, and Zuko could imagine the vibrant colours that must’ve once characterised the mural. The dragons' claws grasped each other, an odd, intimate gesture in such a violent scene.

“Maybe this will help us figure out more about the original source of firebending!” Aang’s voice had this lilt to it that made every sentence sound like it ended with an exclamation point. 

Zuko looked at the portraits of the dragons. The fuel, the flame. He looked at the Sun Warrior. The tender . “They look pretty angry to me.” 

“I thought the dragons were friends with the Sun Warriors.” Zuko looked away from the mural, unwilling to look at the creatures his family had driven to extinction. “Zuko, something happened to the dragons in the last hundred years… something you’re not telling me.”

In the same way one did not tell foreigners about the connection with Agni, one did not tell them about the connection with the dragons. But, the Avatar did have firebending abilities, somewhere deep down… Zuko began to walk, and Aang followed. “My great-grandfather happened. He claimed that killing a dragon strengthened our Inner Fire. They are—were—the ultimate firebenders, and if you could kill one, that energy would move to you. Your Fire became legendary. For the strength of your Inner Fire, you earned the title: dragon.” Zuko paused in front of the fallen head of a dragon statue and rubbed the mask on his hip. It bore a striking resemblance to a dragon with its pointed horns, sharpened teeth, and a tongue unfit for human speech. As such, he bore a striking resemblance to the creatures his family purged. “My uncle killed the last one before I was born. I’d always wanted to meet one, though.”

“I thought your uncle was… I don’t know, good?”

“He is good.” Zuko hissed before softening his voice. “He had a complicated past. It's difficult not to, in our family.” His little sister, now his father’s sharpened blade. His little sister, once playing with her writhing flames, now turning them against civilians. His little sister, once innocent, now a killer. Though the Avatar’s group was the same. “Let’s move on.”

They did, Aang occasionally jogging or speedwalking to keep up with Zuko’s pace.

Eventually, they found the something that Zuko was hoping to find. A tall pillar mounted with a ruby gemstone stood across from a wall with a golden vault, which had a similar ruby on top of it. Ancient writing wound around the circular gold doors, with a similar curvature to Fire inscriptions, though Zuko couldn’t make sense of any of it.

The floor had circles and nicks carved into it, exactly like… “This is a celestial calendar! Just like in the Fire Sage Temples! The ruby on top of the door? That's a sunstone… it’ll open the door when that red light shines on it, on the solstice.”

“Argh! The solstice again? We can’t wait that long.”

“No, we can’t.” Zuko withdrew one of his blades, feeling his chi pour into the blade as the metal welcomed him like an old friend. Warmth bloomed on his tongue, and the taste of something familiar accompanied it; when he and Uncle had moved into their apartment, one of the neighbours brought over small cookies embedded with blueberries. The taste was just like that, and with it, comfort radiated from Mask on his hip. You are needed, you are wanted. It whispered. You have a purpose, outside of serving your father or the Avatar. Zuko tilted his sword under the red light and aimed it towards the sunstone on the top of the door. He did not have any other purpose, not now. He was to assist and to teach. That was it. “We might be able to speed time up. Let’s see if we can outsmart the sunstone.” As the stone warmed, the golden doors rumbled and parted, revealing some sort of empty room.

“You know, Zuko, I don’t care what everybody else says about you.” Aang placed his hand on his chest. “You’re pretty smart.”

Zuko smiled, about to open his mouth in a thank you, when the words registered. “Hey!”

————————————

“You just had to pick up the glowing egg, didn’t you?” 

Stars shone through the blanket of night, and exhaustion pulled at Zuko. Nighttime was always hell. Every morning, Agni woke him up, and every night, Agni put him to sleep, and disobeying that was like disobeying one’s need for food and drink. 

Thankfully, Zuko was stubborn.

“At least—” Zuko yawned as the gaping hole of dimmed flame widened in his chest. Even at full strength, he probably wouldn’t be able to produce more than a meter of flame. Now, probably less than a flicker. “At least I did something. If it were up to you, we would’ve never made it past the courtyard !” His eyes fluttered shut momentarily, before Aang’s jostling woke him again. 

“Help!” 

The screaming pierced through Zuko’s ear, and he winced. “Who are you yelling to?! Nobody’s lived here for centuries!”

“Well, what do you think we should do?”

Sleep . Zuko’s dimmed Inner Fire supplied, but he did his best to suppress it. “Think about our place in the universe?” 

“Who is down there?” A gruff voice echoed through the city, and Aang sighed in relief while Zuko tensed.

Who the fuck is touring an abandoned city in the dead of night? Not anyone good, that's who. The owner of the voice walked forward, heavy footsteps loud and confident, before he leaned over Aang and Zuko.

The man had a short beard, tied into a yellow elastic, and a painted upper face, dressed in the traditional clothes of a Sun Warrior. His hand held a tall staff, tipped with a golden sun.

This day just keeps getting worse.

Chapter Text

Two odds long-snouted creatures licked the sticky gunk off of Zuko and Aang, the rough, prickling tongue scraping harshly at Aang’s skin. Brandishing a red staff tipped with a golden sun at the pair, the Sun Warrior spoke gruffly, leaving Aang no time to be grateful for their rescue. “For trying to take our sunstone, you must be severely punished!”

Zuko leaned forward, tugging Aang with him. “We didn’t come here for the sunstone. We came to find the ancient origin of firebending.” 

“Yeah, right.” A man to the side, obviously the counsel to the chief, stepped forward, clutching the glowing egg. “These are obviously thieves , here to steal Sun Warrior treasures.”

Aang smiled imploringly, like a man standing in front of a jury, knowing full well he was guilty but not ready to pay the price for it. “Please! I don’t normally play this card, but I’m the Avatar.” He stood as the Sun Warriors exchanged looks. “Just hear us out.”

The chief’s counsel shook his head slightly. “What good is the Avatar to us? For hundreds of years, we have lived peacefully. It's only now, with this Avatar, that our treasure and safety have been threatened.”

“That’s not our intention, we just want to defeat the Fire Nation.”

The counsel scoffed again, but this time the chief spoke. “And how is that our problem?”

“Because the Fire Lord will find the Sun Warriors, if not this year, then next. He is planning on conquering and colonising the whole world.” Zuko stood to stand beside Aang, then bowed deeply, making that Fire symbol with his hands. Quickly, Aang moved to mimic it. “Please, we need your help to stop him . Let us learn from the original firebenders.” 

Meanwhile, the counsel spoke. “The burned one is clearly imperial Fire Nation. He has the same eyes as—” He was silenced with a glare from the chief.

“The war is not our problem. The world left our ways, and we leave them too.” The chief turned to the rest of the Sun warriors. “These two’s flames are weak and disconnected. Ki—”

“Stop!” A youthful voice broke through the tittering of the Sun Warriors, pushing to the side of the chief. Her dark hair was pulled back into a long ponytail that reached her mid-back, scattered with tiny braids woven with red and gold ribbon. She had the same mask-like face paint as the chief, and her lips were slightly ajar, revealing her tongue, which had some sort of golden tattoo embossed into it. She gestured for the chief to lean down and began to whisper into his ear. “He is probably a Spirit , we cannot kill him. Can you imagine the Masters’ reactions if we destroy one of their own, without their permission? He is not some run-of-the-mill guy , he’s got three entities marking him.”

Three entities? Like the three elements I’ve already learned? I’ve never heard of elements called entities. Maybe she means Spirit-given? The Avatar is the ‘World Spirit’. It was odd, though.

The chief looked at her imploringly. “Sanaya—” 

“Mother.” The priestess interrupted, her nose wrinkling. “I am the priestess, and the Spirit’s mouthpiece. And we will not be harming either of these two in any way. The Spirit World has need of the young Spirit, yet.”

The chief’s face soured, but he bowed anyway. “Yes, Mother. We will let the Masters pass judgment on the ‘Spirit’ and the boy.” Now, the chief turned to Zuko and Aang. “If you truly are here to learn the ways of the Sun, you must learn them from Masters Ran and Shao.”

Aang startled, momentarily. “Ran and Shao? There are two of them?”

“When you present yourself to them,” The chief stepped forward to tower over Aang, clearly unswayed by the priestess’s probably speech on Aang’s Avatar status. “They will examine you. Your heart, ancestry, body…”

Zuko let out a small snort, and the chief and Aang turned to stare at him. “The body or the soul? One is more important than the other.” He spoke the words like an inside joke, and the priestess smiled vigorously at Zuko, who simply gave her a confused look, which quickly dawned into realisation . Then, the ex-Prince gave her a sharp nod. Now, the chief moved towards Zuko, though he kept a few steps back.

“If you are worthy , they will teach you. If you are not… well, you’ll have to tell me if the Spirit World is as pleasant as ours .” Zuko flinched visibly, hand clenching the mask obviously hidden at his side, and Aang let out a deep breath. There was something in the way the chief said ours that made it seem…

Well, made it seem like it wasn’t Zuko’s.

————————————

The probably-a-Spirit had the visage of a young teen boy, but the priestess could always tell the difference . His soul flickered with a Flame that was and wasn’t , ebbing with spiritual energy. His soul was sixteen, but his energy was young and youthful, only weeks old, and teeming with the fingerprints of Agni and two Water Spirits.

But his Flame was weak. This probably-a-Spirit would not last much longer, not without some bolstering from the Masters. “This is the first flame, the eternal flame, the physical embodiment of the Fire that lives within all firebenders. But this flame is even purer , unsullied by physical baggage.” She eyed the two of them. “This flame, which I have tended since I could walk, was gifted to mankind by the dragons. This flame has been tended to by my mother, and her mother, and her mother, and so on, for thousands of years.”

Priestesses did not marry. They did have children.

A priestess lived hundreds and hundreds of years, the teeming spiritual energy preserving their life, in the way it did for the Spirits. But, they were mortal, and they, too, would pass. As such, nearing the end of her life, a priestess would meet with the masters, who would asexually create a child in her image. The current priestess looked identical to the original one, and would have a child that looked just like her.

In a few centuries, that was. 

The chief stepped forward, and the priestess had to hold back a scoff. She looked youthful, yes, but the current chief took that as her being younger than him. 

She’d been there for his birth, Agni damn it. The chief spoke, and the priestess held her golden tongue. “You are to each deliver a portion of the eternal flame to Master Ran and Master Shao, as proof of your commitment to your Inner Fire.”

The Avatar scratched his head nervously. “Um, Mister Sun Chief, sir? Yeah, I’m not a firebender yet. Couldn’t my friend here carry my fire for me?” The boy was clearly standing with one foot in the Spirit World and one foot in the mortal realm, much like herself. He, however, was blessed in travel, rather than speaking.

The chief was about to reply, but the priestess quickly spoke over him. He needs to learn some respect. “This Flame is not a question of skill . It is pure and will extinguish if you do not strive to be pure as well.” The Avatar tilted his head, but the probably-a-Spirit nodded his understanding. “Firebending is fuelled by your Inner Fire, so you need to have an Inner Fire to utilise it. However, this Flame is only powered by the soul , since it is gifted by the Spirits. As long as you are pure, this Flame will treat you kindly.” 

“I… don’t understand.” The Avatar looked up at her, so childlike that her heart broke. People spoke of the cruelty of Spirits, but in these situations, she realised that humans were the worst beings of all. 

“That’s alright.” The priestess said, kindly. “Watch this. I am not a firebender, my chi instead put towards spiritual matters. However, this Flame knows me.” She turned towards the teardrop hearth, engraved with prayers and well-wishes, and knelt, plunging her arm deep into the flame. For a second, it seared her skin, and she grimaced, but the pain slowly turned into warmth as the Flame kissed her arm, playful as it always was. The priestess cupped her hand, and a small flame poured into it, which she withdrew and showed to the Avatar and probably-a-Spirit.

The small Flame danced and tickled as she poured her spiritual chi into it, thinking of love , and gratefulness , and respect .

“Wow.” The Avatar said, and the Priestess gestured for both of them to hold out their cupped hands. The probably-a-Spirit did so readily, gazing at the Flame with such fondness that the Flame quickly hopped into his hands. 

The priestess withdrew another handful. “Be patient with this one.” She whispered to the Flame before pouring it into the Avatar’s hands. 

The boy smiled shyly. “It’s… like a little heartbeat.”

She smiled in return, “Fire is not only death, my dear.”

————————————

“Zuko, wait up!” Zuko turned to look at Aang, who was struggling to climb the rocky cliff face. His Flame was small and timid, drawing off of Aang’s emotions. “If I go too fast, my Flame will go out!”

“Your Flame is going to go out. It's too small. You’re too timid.” Zuko rubbed at his Mask with his free hand, the comfort radiating from it helping his Flame remain steady. “It’s not going to bite you , Aang. You saw the priestess… she put her hand into the middle of it and she wasn’t even burned. In comparison, yours is the size of a candle’s flame. Nothing's going to happen except going out , so give it more juice.”

“But what if I can’t control it?”

“You can. You’re…” Zuko paused. “You’re a talented kid.” At that, Aang smiled, and his Flame grew just a few degrees bigger.

There was silence for a few moments before Aang spoke again. “Zuko?”

“Mmhm?”

“When the priestess was talking about the Spirit… it didn’t sound like she was talking to me,” Aang said, and Zuko’s Flame jumped as his heart fluttered. “The Spirits haven’t really needed me, and when we first met at the Western Air Temple, you mentioned Agni wanting you to join us.”

Zuko gave a hollow laugh, though it sounded more like the thud of a rock reaching the bottom of the ocean… or the thud of a soul reaching the bottom of the Ocean. “Are you asking me if I’ve had contact with Spirits ? Do you think you could beat up anyone Spirit-touched that many times without spiritual intervention?” Zuko did not say no . Spirits did not lie, and he didn’t know what would happen if he did. However, that did not mean he told the truth .

“No, I’m—” 

Zuko interrupted as they reached the top of the mountain. “Quiet. It's time to meet these Masters.” Aang gave him a frustrated pout, his eyebrows pinched in confusion, while Zuko rubbed the Mask on his hip.

The priestess, chief, and counsel stood in the middle of a large platform, carved in the middle of the two mountain spires. Radiating rings of clay stones lined the floor, and they shifted slightly as the chief walked towards them. “Facing the judgement of the Masters will be dangerous for you.” The chief spoke to Zuko, ignoring Aang. “Your ancestors led the disappearance of the dragons.”

There was more he was not saying. Zuko could fill it in.

Because I am a minor Spirit, here to demand help from Agni’s chosen, the original Masters.

Because I am a Frankenstein of dishonored man and Spirit, an impurity holding the purest Flame, offering it to the purest beings.

Aang leaned forward. “I’m the Avatar, I—”

The chief scoffed, his voice rising. “You disappeared for a hundred years, giving the Fire Nation the stability and safety to massacre not just people but the original peacekeepers of fire. The burden of the dragon’s decline is on you, too.” The priestess stepped forward and stretched out her hands. Automatically, like a soldier returning to his wife, the Flames split and jumped into her outstretched hands, which the rest of the Sun Warriors took and began to spin, drums pounding. 

Aang turned to Zuko. “We could turn back now. We’ve already learned more about Fire than we’d hoped.”

“No, we’re seeing this through.” Zuko made it sound like they were completing it for honour , or because he was a completionist . That wasn’t the only reason. Zuko’s Inner Fire still felt out of reach, slipping out of his metaphysical fingertips. He needed to meet these Masters, not just for his firebending, but for his well-being . Chi was the life source , and without access to his… “We have to.”

“What if they judge us and attack us?”

“We’re the Fire Prince and Avatar.” Zuko grinned and pulled at his sword handle. “Whoever these Masters are, we can take them.”

With that said, through legs that were complaining after a long mountain climb, they began to climb the stairs. Once they’d reached the top, someone—Zuko did not look up to see who—spoke loudly into some sort of voice-amplifier. “Those who wish to meet the Masters Ran and Shao may now present their Fire.”  Zuko moved to face and bow towards one of the tunnels, hands outstretched to offer the Flame, while Aang presumably did the same behind him. The tunnels rumbled and quaked, as a loud horn called forward the Masters. Rocks fell and smashed into the floor, and clouds of dust settled upon Zuko, who coughed discreetly.

“What’s happening?!” Aang clutched Zuko’s arm, and he flinched. “Zuko, my Fire went out!”

Shit. “What do you want me to do?” He hissed, staring at the Avatar, who really was just an Agni-damned child . How did I hunt this kid for so long without realising it?  

“Give me some of yours!” Aang lunged for him, and Zuko held him away by his bald head, though the kid was stubborn . 

It reminded him of…

Azula, just five years old, was grappling with Zuko, who had held a toy far out of reach. He couldn’t remember if it was his or Azula’s, but at that age, everything felt like it was his. “Give it!” She had shouted angrily, climbing up onto his shoulders and straining for the stuffed fire ferret. Zuko laughed and continued to move it just too far for the little girl to get it. Their caretaker, reading a novel, shouted for them to be careful. They weren’t. Out of nowhere, a small stream of fire erupted from Azula’s chubby hand, catching the stuffed toy on fire. They both watched as it burned to ashes.

Zuko, holding Azula’s legs with one arm, had stared, shocked, while Azula cried about the burned toy. The caretaker had gasped, a proud smile on his face, as he ran towards the royal children. “Did you just firebend?” Azula, through tears, had nodded. 

All Zuko remembered was the shock, anger, and devastation. That was the first time either of the royal children had firebended… and Azula, the youngest, had done so first .

“Just make your own!” Zuko pushed Aang, who flailed his arms before clambering onto Zuko’s back. He stretched towards Zuko’s Flame, while Zuko held it out of reach, just like he had with Azula. “Quit cheating off me!” 

“How ‘bout you stop being stingy?”

On Zuko’s back, Aang fumbled forward to grab at Zuko’s Flame, until…his hands were pushed down, the flame extinguished…

Well, now they were both fucked.

The tunnels shook faster, rocks flying to the floor. In unison, Zuko and Aang spoke. “Uh-oh.” 

They saw the eyes before the beings , sending yellow streaming out of the cave. The sight very nearly made Zuko send ‘yellow streaming into his pants. A gigantic red dragon erupted from the cave, and, from the yelp Aang squeaked into Zuko’s ear, there was another one from the second tunnel. Zuko glanced over, where a dark blue dragon, the same shade as his mask, flew from the cave and began circling the duo with its red counterpart.

“They’re…” Aang paused. “They’re dancing, Zuko. I think we’re supposed to do the dragon dance with them!”

“What?!” Zuko scoffed, pressing his back into Aang’s. “What about this situation makes it look like they’re dancing? They’re circling us, like a cat playing with a mouse!”

Aang looked at Zuko with pleading eyes. “We have to do something . Let’s just try it.”

Agni, was every older brother designed with a specific weakness for puppy-dog eyes ? “Fine.” And Zuko danced.

Every movement was fluid as water, easy to move from one kata to the next, but the motions were sharp and demanding, more like the modern katas that he’d been taught. And, some… some were exactly like the ones Uncle taught him, all those weeks ago, bare feet stinging on the hot metal of the ship. Finally, they reached the end of the circle, where Aang and his fists connected in the final kata.

Zuko looked at the snarling blue dragon, the same jutted fangs and white fur as his Mask. Unsure, Zuko glanced at Aang, who was focused solely on the red dragon, before looking back at his own. Slowly, Zuko focused on the specific frequency of his Mask. Come. He whispered to it. Protect me. He did not ask for any other part of his outfit, but the scarf from Kaiya appeared on his wrist regardless. My priestess . He thought, though he didn’t know where that came from.

There was no weight or texture that told the Blue Spirit that he had donned his Mask, but he knew it was there. He knew it in the completeness of his being, in the way the sweet tastes of fruit coated his tongue and the smell of flowery incense burned in his nose. It was the same smell as his tiny blue flowers, which already began to spiral round his wrist and creep across the floor. Time seemed to slow, as Aang and the red dragon’s movements moved forward at a crawl, most certainly the doing of the blue dragon. 

*Help me, please.* The Blue Spirit bowed. He did not have any Eternal Flame to give, but he held out his hands nonetheless, offering the small flowers that bloomed there. 

The blue dragon’s mouth relaxed, flying closer to push it’s snout into Zuko’s flower-laden hands. As the dragon did so and vines wound up its snout. *A Spirit wearing my likeness… I don’t know whether I should be appreciative or insulted, especially when it's a Spirit whose ancestors slaughtered my family.*

*I am Zuko, the Blue Spirit.* Zuko gently pressed the thoughts into the dragon’s mind. *I did not realise I was wearing your likeness, but I am very proud to do so. You are extraordinary.*

*Proud? Of course, you should be… I am Shao, the representative of Agni, in flesh. I am the soul, reborn. I am the original firebender, who gave humanity the ability to bend.* Shao sobered. *Of course, then I am also the one who sullied Fire, gave humanity the ability to kill and burn and enslave. I am not only an enabler, but the source.*

*I want to undo that. I want people to realise that Agni is life, warmth, light, not just destruction. Please, help me.*

Shao looked at the Blue Spirit, the human counterpart of the dragon. *You are me, then, in Spirit form. Return here alone, one day, when the Spirit and mortal world are peaceful once more, in return for what I am to give you.*

Zuko paused. One of the cardinal rules of Spirits: do not trust them. By extension, do not agree when you do not have all the information. *Yes.*

*Do you swear?*

Spirits were bound to their promises, he knew that much. Contracts were as much a part of Spirithood as spiritual energy. *I swear. I will return.* The Blue Spirit glanced at Aang. *Thank you.*

One did not express their gratitude to Spirits, but Zuko had already broken several rules today. With a flick of his hand, the Mask returned to its pouch, though the blue scarf did not leave his wrist. Honestly, Zuko didn’t want it to. As he stared at the embroidered flowers, he blinked once, twice. His priestess? Affection whirled through his stomach as he mulled over the words, eyes tracing each loving stitch.

Shao’s head shook, and time returned to normal, just as both dragons landed on the pillar holding the platform and breathed fire at the duo. Zuko couldn’t suppress a shout, raising his arms to shield his face, awaiting pain that never came. Slowly, he lowered his arms.

It was beautiful. Rainbow flames swirled around them, in every shade: indigo intermingled with red, yellow intermingled with green. Azula’s blue flames, as perfect and deadly as her, had nothing on these, which seemed to offer life rather than destruction. What do you want? They seemed to ask, whispers of colour rather than voice. What is your purpose? The conscious part of Zuko’s mind tried to answer: To help the Avatar defeat my father. The subconscious part, instead took over: I want to live. I want to be free. I want to be loved and respected. It was so frail, so naive, so stupid when voiced.

The flames did not think so. Fire is life. Fire is freedom. Fire is love. They whispered to him, and light bloomed in his chest. His Inner Fire bloomed inside him, pumped through his body, stronger and brighter than it’d ever been. It was like sunglasses were removed, giving him the chance to feel the Fire dancing in his chest, alive. When his metaphysical fingers reached for his Inner Fire, it greeted him like an old friend, circling his fingers like his tiny blue flowers. 

“I understand,” Zuko said. Fire knew him. As the multicoloured flames disappeared, Zuko looked to the Sun, and felt affection thrum through him so viscerally that his legs almost buckled. Tears budded in his eyes, and Zuko had to blink them away. Agni was with him, watching from high up in the sky, nestled in the vast expanse of sky.

Ran and Shao returned to their tunnels, and they slowly stepped down the stairs. The chief stood at the bottom, awe highlighting his face. “You have been judged and received visions as to the true meaning of firebending.”

“I can’t believe there are dragons left.” Zuko paused. “My Uncle Iroh said he faced the last dragon and killed it.”

“So your Uncle lied,” Aang said.

“It wasn’t a total lie.” The priestess moved to the chief’s side and smiled. “Iroh was the last outsider to face the masters. He was a good man, full of the morals that I wish modern firebenders followed.” 

The chief nodded, for once not seeming annoyed with the priestess. “Let's see what you’ve learned.”

Aang moved first, blasting waves of orange fire and heat as he mimicked the dragon dance katas. It was impressive, to say the least, especially for his third time trying to produce a flame. Zuko inhaled sharply, inwardly reaching towards the minute Sun within his chest. Immediately, the Fire jumped and circled in his hand, and Zuko imitated the same katas, blasting out heat and rainbow-hued flames, which twisted and danced as they swirled across the empty platform.

Zuko’s breath caught in his chest, as the flames danced and disappeared, blinking out in a kaleidoscope of coloured lights and flame.

“How’d you do that?!” Aang shouted, darting towards Zuko. “Teach me!”

Zuko glanced over at the chief and priestess. The woman stared in outright awe, eyes transfixed to the spot where the flames disappeared. 

“Holy shit.” The chief mumbled, eyes rolling back in his head as he fainted, the priestess catching him with one arm. She staggered slightly, eyes still stuck to the spot.

“I was right. You really are a Spirit.” She whispered, and Zuko just had to hope Aang hadn’t heard it.

Chapter Text

“The Spirit World has need of the young Spirit, yet.”

“If you are not… well, you’ll have to tell me if the Spirit World is as pleasant as ours.”

“You really are a Spirit, aren’t you?”

Aang’s hands tightened around Appa’s reins, and his Spirit animal lowed. Appa, licking Zuko with the same familiarity as he had once given to the other sky bison. “Sorry, Appa.” He whispered, ruffling the coarse fur on Appa’s head. The bison seemed placated and rumbled happily. The sky was darkening, and the moment the sun had crossed the horizon, Zuko had fallen asleep in the saddle. “I wish you could speak.”

But this was something Aang had to figure out alone. He was the Avatar , it shouldn’t be that hard.

Rainbow flames.

The references to Agni.

The loose movements, the way his joints moved, as if elastic.

“Are you asking me if I’ve had contact with Spirits? Do you think you could beat up anyone Spirit-touched that many times without spiritual intervention?”  

Zuko hadn’t said no . Did that mean Zuko was Spirit-touched? And, more importantly, if Aang was right, what did it mean that Agni was keeping an eye on Zuko? Maybe it ran in the family. When Aang was with Roku, one foot in the Spirit World, he was invisible to everyone, except Iroh, who’d watched Fang and the two Avatars fly over him. Zuko didn’t strike Aang as someone particularly spiritual or reverent, but…

Is my suspicion just because I doubt him? Am I just trying to justify why Zuko has joined us? Do I not believe people can change? The monks prioritised letting go , giving people second chances. Air was fickle as they came, and the monks believed people could be too. Have I spent too long without the rest of Air? Am I losing my morals in favor of bitterness and rigidity?

Because, true enough, it could just be that Zuko has become a better person. References to Agni because he was spiritual, loose movements as he relaxed into himself. Did Aang think that Zuko couldn’t improve without external pressures? And if he brought up these suspicions, and he was wrong, would it cause Zuko to return to his old self, ruining the steps the older teen had taken?

Aang didn’t know.

I need to talk to Roku.

————————————

Appa landed near the demolished fountain of the Western Air Temple, and Aang turned to shake the sleeping firebender awake. Right before his hand touched Zuko’s arm, he paused, images of Toph’s blistering feet passing through his mind. Instead, he settled for blowing a small gust of wind, which ruffled Zuko’s hair and clothes. “Zuko, wake up.” Immediately, the teen shot to a seated position, hands held out in a punching position—likely ready to perform some sort of firebending kata. 

“Wha—” Zuko blinked sleep out of his eyes, the shadowed moon sending dark shapes stretching across his face. “Oh, yeah.” Aang smiled, though he unintentionally watched Zuko for any… Spirit-ish movements. “Yeah, night, Aang.”

“Good night, Zuko!” He replied cheerily, smile stretching across his face in a plasticky way, like an elastic band pulled too far. 

Zuko slipped from Appa’s back and slid down the thick fur, wandering in the direction of his room. Aang quickly followed suit, but turned down the hallway where Katara usually slept, though one was never really sure; she seemed to change rooms as often as the moon changed phases. She’d tried to explain it to him once, that the different rooms of the temple held different levels of humidity, depending on the temperature outside. When it was hot and dry, she moved to the central levels, where water was more likely to be trapped. When it was cool and wet, she stayed in the rooms with open windows, where water dripped from the ceilings and pooled in the corners. “I need to be near my element.” She’d said, hands plunged into a bucket of ice water. “My nightmares get bad, otherwise.”

Aang had nodded his understanding, though he really didn’t. An airbender was constantly exposed to Air—he didn’t know what it would be like to be so far removed.

“I don’t sleep much anyway.” Katara had looked affectionately at the moon—or the Moon—when she’d said that. “Tui likes to keep me occupied. It’s easier to sleep during the day… that’s why I take so many naps in the saddle. Back home, we have polar nights in which Tui doesn’t set for days. My gran-gran liked to say that was when Tui and La embraced, and refused to let each other go again.” Regardless, she had still smiled. “But I could feel Tui’s energy, making sure I didn’t get too tired. I think that waterbenders used to be the nighttime guard, so Tui blessed us with alertness when They are in the sky.”

Sure enough, in the present, Katara was sitting in the middle of the floor, cross-legged and eyes closed, waving arms of water. Slowly, a tenth arm emerged, though it quaked. “Katara?” Aang’s voice broke through the sounds of splashing and ebbing water. Immediately, the arms crashed to the floor, and Katara looked up, giving a disappointed look at the puddles around her. The water droplets quivered at her glaring ire for their disobedience, only stopping once she glanced towards Aang.

“Aang! You’re back! How’d it go?” 

Aang smiled. “You tell me.” He held up his palm, slowly tapped into the reserve of energy in his chest, and a tiny flame, barely larger than his pinky nail, flickered to light in his palm. For a second, Katara flinched, but her smile returned, larger than ever, and Aang flicked the flame out. 

“That’s amazing, Aang!” Katara moved to hug him, her hair swinging into his nose as she leaned down. “I knew you could do it.” Aang didn’t reply for a moment, too preoccupied with suppressing the red that flowered on his cheeks. Finally, she drew away.

“Thanks, Katara.” He hoped his voice didn’t shake, though he knew it did, quivering like the puddles of water surrounding Katara. “I have a favour to ask, though.”

Katara sobered immediately, eyes shifting to the door and windows. “What is it?”

“I need to talk to Roku. Can I stay with you to meditate?” Aang rocked slightly on the balls of his feet. “I know waterbenders are the ‘nighttime guard’.”

Immediately, the water around Katara’s feet perked up, even puddles entirely separated from her rippling. She laughed, quietly, and nodded. “Of course. I’ll do my best not to douse you with water.” Katara crossed her legs to sit, and the water underneath her slid away, keeping her dress dry. Aang sat across from her, closing his eyes.

The trick to stepping into the Spirit World was not to step into it at all: you had to stand on the threshold, peering into the metaphysical window, until a Spirit either slipped into the in-between with him, or wrenched him into the Spirit World. Today, he was hoping for the former.

The Spirit World was a being, a being of such vastness that Aang could never fully comprehend it. If he tried, he would probably lose his mind. As such, today he focused simply on the small area he was half-occupying, probably the human equivalent of the armpit . Thankfully, the armpit in-between didn’t have any smells , but it did have this nasty substance weighing on Aang’s chi. Roku . Aang thought, knocking at his metaphysical window. Roku, I need you.

In the way that one can see someone walking towards a door through the glass, Aang could sense Roku’s blurry form moving closer, opening the door for the in-between, and…

The previous Avatar appeared in front of Aang. There was something out of focus about him, as usual, with a smudgy outline and blurring colours. The only clear part about him were the eyes, almond-shaped and golden, with deep-set wrinkles that weren’t disguised by the smudgy effect around his skin. Eyes are the windows to the soul . “Aang,” The speaking was less speaking than in the mortal realm, but more vocal than the Spirits. Like Aang, he was an in-between. “Is some—” Roku paused, blurred form walking around Aang.

“What’s wrong?”

“Have you been fighting with the Spirits?” 

Aang tilted his head. “No… Zuko and I went to meet Master Ran and Shao. Oh!” Aang smiled brightly, and Roku’s eyes warmed. “I have a firebending teacher! Zuko, the Prince I was telling you about? He’s joined us.”

“It is good to know that he did not follow the path of his forefathers.” Roku’s grin emerged from the blending watercolour of his face, sharp and in focus. His eyes were alight with something like love, or endearment. It was the same look that a grandparent gave a grandchild before thrusting coins in their hands and whispering, “Get some candy. Don’t tell your mum.” Aang bit his lower lip, unsure if he should try and steer the conversation or go with Roku’s cryptic conversational choices. The prior Avatar seemed to notice this. “Please, Aang, you called me here for a reason. I am sure you do not have much time. Just humor me this: what does he look like?”

Startled, Aang blinked. “Uh…” He started to list off traits, counting each one on his finger. “He’s about an inch shorter than Sokka, but still taller than me or Katara. Yellow eyes, like the rest of Imperial Fire Nation. Dark hair, pale skin. He’s got a burn on the left side of his face, and a ton of small scars on his forearms… I think they’re from swords and daggers and stuff? They aren’t burns. Oh!” Aang looked up from his fingers. “He actually looks a lot like Sozin when he was younger, with a narrower face and eyebrows. I guess that makes sense, they are related. And he’s definitely the mirror image of his father, based on the drawings I’ve seen.”

“It is cruel, indeed, that he seems to look so alike to his banisher.” Roku hummed. “Thank you, Aang. Now, what is it you need?”

This was not a fun conversation choice after Roku seemed so invested in Zuko, but Aang did his best to embody Toph’s stubbornness. “I was wondering if… well, if mortals can become Spirits?”

Roku froze, the smudginess that blurred him becoming more extreme, until his colours were disappearing into the vast empty of the in-between. “Aang, you cannot—should not—become a Spirit. It is dangerous, wickedly so, and you are more likely to defeat the Fire Lord without knowing any bending than to survive such a thing. Besides, Spirits do not give out that sort of thing for free—it comes with strings attached, enough string to make a noose and hang yourself with.”

“What?” Aang shivered, thinking of Zuko. Did he make a bargain with a Spirit, just to join us? Is he trapped in a deal he cannot fulfil? Is this my fault for not accepting him from the beginning? “No, I’m asking about someone else.” Pause. Aang’s eyes darted around the absolute emptiness that made up the in-between. “I think Zuko might’ve… made one such deal with a Spirit.”

Roku slammed into full focus, springing back and forth to make dual images, like a door stopper, before sliding back into blurry ambiguity. The previous Avatar was silent, eyes warring with something , as he opened and closed a smudgy mouth. Finally, he sighed. “I told them that the literal spiritual bridge would notice something was off.”

Now, it was Aang who felt like he was moving fast enough to form two of himself, one screaming, “I was right!” and the other wailing, “No, no, no, no, no!” , but his two halves could not merge. 

“The Spirit World is in unrest, Aang. You must’ve felt it. Even I do not know the details, but the major Spirits are warring , and your friend is just one pawn on the chessboard.” Roku’s clear eyes analysed Aang’s face. “Do you understand what that means? The mortal and Spirit worlds are intrinsically connected in a way that none of us can understand, and if there is such massive upheaval here, upheaval that hasn’t been seen since the Spirit and mortal realms were separated…”

“It’ll leak,” Aang said, horror spilling across his face in the same way that chaos would spill between worlds. “But what does that have to do with Zuko ?”

“I don’t know, Aang. I don’t. But you cannot tell anyone this. It will not stop the chaos, only exacerbate it until leakage is inevitable.” Roku rubbed an out-of-focus hand over his face wearily. “Zuko is stuck in the middle of it all. I don’t think even he realises it, too caught up in mortal affairs. It is not good for a Spirit to be solely focused on mortals… There was a reason the worlds separated.”

Aang’s stomach dropped, so visceral that his mind smashed into memories. Aang, falling off the top of the Temple’s roof, expecting flight but not achieving it. Aang, plunging into the icy Southern waters, ice swirling around him and locking him in a prison of his own making. Aang, struck in the back with lightning, plummeting into the cracked, gemstone-laden floors. “He’s… he’s not actually—”

“He’s as human as he was before,” Roku said firmly, before glancing around the in-between. “I have to go, Aang. This turmoil does not exclude dead mortals, and I don’t fetch a low price, as the former Avatar. Good luck. Remember, say noth—” The dead Avatar’s form blended into the nothing, like a child spilling water on their watercolour painting.

Aang wasn’t one to swear, but this was as good an occasion as any. 

————————————

Aang did not step back into the mortal realm. Instead, he pulled his metaphysical eyes away from the window, shut the not-real curtains, and settled back into his own skin. He did not open his eyes. He was not ready to open his eyes. If he did so before he was certain that his own emotions were as curtained as the in-between, then Katara would know. She always knew.

As human as he was before… as human as he was before… as human as he was before…

Zuko was a Spirit . Zuko was—or could be—as monumentally powerful as Hei Bai or Wan Shi Tong, and live just as long. Zuko would outlast all of them, win or lose; Zuko wasn’t really human anymore.

Aang, Katara, Toph, and Sokka were all playing cards by a set of rules, put in place eons ago, long before any of them, or their recent ancestors, could remember. Zuko was now playing not only with a different rulebook, but with a whole different set of cards. He didn’t even have to play the same game anymore, not like Aang, who was chained to his seat, cards cemented to his hand.

Spirits were the house in a game of blackjack, and the house always won . Yes, you could win a few hands, maybe take a couple chips here and there, but in the end… the Spirits would end up on top. They had the leisure of time .

You’re on the same side . Aang’s mind soothed. You aren’t competing with him, you are both trying to stop the Fire Lord.

But what was it that Roku said? “Zuko is stuck in the middle of it all”? Well, if Zuko was planted in the middle of a Spirits-damned spiritual war, well…

Well, Aang would help him.

Aang’s shoulders deflated.

That was the worst part, wasn’t it? 

As much as Aang wanted—needed—Zuko to be something else, some monstrous Spirit thing , distant from Aang, Zuko wasn’t . Aang couldn’t just ignore the fact that Zuko was right smack-dab in the middle of a Spirit’s war that he didn’t even realise he was a part of.

Zuko was, at the heart of it, human enough to count .

He was a friend , and Aang would go to war for his friends, just as they would for him. So, eventually, when Zuko was pulled into this Spirit madness…

Aang would follow, and so would Sokka, Toph, and Katara. Aang would gladly march into another bloody, unfair war, with higher stakes, with the whole ‘house’ against him, and he would do it without complaining.

Aang called himself a pacifist, but maybe he was just as reliant on the fight as the soldiers across the battlefield. 

Chapter Text

Usually, if Sokka’s once mortal enemy was telling a terrible joke, he would be listening—and mocking—with full attention. 

Not today.

The campfire, lit by their resident matchbox, did not flicker or jump in the way a normal fire would. Sure, living in the Southern Water Tribe may not give one the best definition of how fire behaves, but he’d been lighting campfires for the group for long enough that he knew fire was erratic . Not this one. A well-behaved flame should calm Sokka’s nerves, tell him that the ex-Prince was being genuine , but it had the opposite effect; the fire was behaving like a child preparing for its next violent tantrum, and Aang’s somewhat nervous looks at the older teen since they’d returned from the dragons was certainly not helping. Sokka stared into the centre of the flame, where a green tongue sprouted, frozen in place.

What the hell?

The aforementioned firestarter (because thinking of him as a fire bender made Sokka want to curl up under his bed) paused in front of Sokka’s feet and held out a tray of steaming “tea” that was far too thick to have been steeped normally. The rest of the Gaang seemed to be enjoying it, though, so maybe the firestarter was onto something. Sokka looked up at the teen, whose face was sharp and pale, the frozen fire casting a sharp shadow across his face and lighting up his yellow eyes. Terrifying . Sokka thought, unable to think of anything else. He looks exactly like all the villainous Imperial firebenders .

He supposed that made sense. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” Sokka turned away before the other boy could answer, standing and walking to a space out of reach of the fire’s warmth.

“So… what’s up?”

“If…” How could he make this as anonymous as possible to the possible traitor, as Katara would call him? “If someone was captured by the Fire Nation, where would they be taken?”

“What do you mean? Who was captured?”

Sokka ignored the second question, focusing his answer entirely on the former. “When the invasion plan failed, some of our troops were taken. I just want to know where they might be.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“What?!” Sokka’s voice automatically rose at the end of the question, cracking slightly in the way he always made fun of Aang for. Sokka straightened his back, grateful for the recent growth spurt that gave him a couple of millimetres on the other boy. “Why not? You’re meant to be helping us.” It was manipulative, he knew, but that didn’t stop him from saying it. And, considering the way the frozen fire flickered once, twice, and shrank, it worked .

The firebender glowered. “Trust me, knowing will just make you feel worse.” He turned away to return to the campfire, but Sokka grabbed his shoulder.

“It's my dad , and now that you’ve said that, I’m imagining far worse things than wherever he is.” Sokka paused, and withdrew his hand. Grabbing an irate firebender? Nice going, Sokka. “He was captured. I need to know. Please.” Thank Tui and La that his father wasn’t there to watch his eldest son beg a firebender for anything .

This seemed to sway the older teen, who closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not good, Sokka.” Sokka tried not to flinch at the other boy’s use of his name. “My guess? He was taken to the Boiling Rock.”

The other boy tried to give Sokka some sort of warning against going there, but his mind was made up: in a few hours, Sokka would break into a prison.

————————————

Sokka only stood from his false slumber once Tui was over halfway through Their rotation. At this time, even Katara had usually fallen asleep, broken from whatever water-magic held her in its nocturnal clutches. He had to hope that Toph was too tired—or too disinterested—to notice Sokka’s near-silent footsteps as he clambered up towards Appa’s saddle, the bison’s thick hair twined into Sokka’s fists. “Going somewhere?” A gruff voice spoke, and Sokka’s hands loosened in surprise, sending him plummeting onto his ass. A sharp jolt of pain travelled up his spine, while the damned firestarter looked over the edge of the saddle nonchalantly.

Attempting nonchalance, he turned to gather the supplies that’d spilt from his backpack. For a moment, Sokka turned to look up. “Fine, you caught me. I’m going to rescue my dad. Happy now?”

The teen’s lip twitched upwards, though it quickly disappeared. “I’m never happy.” He said, in a piss-poor attempt at a joke, and Sokka—in his annoyance—couldn’t even appreciate it.

“Ha, ha. Very funny, pal.” Finally, Sokka pushed his last item into his bag and stood. “Look, I have to do this. The invasion plan was my idea. It was my decision to stay when things were going wrong. And, now, it's my fault that they’re at the ‘Boiling Rock’—” He put air quotes around the stupidly obvious name. “—and it's my responsibility to fix it. I have to regain my honour… you of all people have to understand that.” The firestarter landed on the floor with not even a sound , and gave Sokka a sad look that he couldn’t interpret.

“I’m going with you.”

“ No. This is something I have to do on my own.”

The older boy crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently, as if Sokka were a toddler who was trying to put his shoes on the wrong feet. “With Appa? Don’t you think it might be suspicious if the Avatar’s sky bison in the world was suddenly found at the most secure prison in the Fire Nation, right after his friends’ father arrived there? When I was tracking you guys, the most common hint was that people saw an extinct hulk of an animal flying over their village. It's a dead giveaway.”

Sokka glanced down from where he was climbing up Appa’s back.

“We’ll take my war balloon.” The firestarter said, with the same nonchalance that a mother would say, “I’m taking out the laundry!” , as he strode away from Sokka.

Do I go with him, or do I take Appa?

Sokka looked between the two options once, twice, before making his decision. After all, what would be his purpose if he wasn’t a quick thinker?

“Wait up!” He whisper-yelled, running after Zuko. 

————————————

Zuko placed another log on the fire inside the metal cage, rather than blasting any flame into it. “Why are you doing that? Can’t you just, you know…” Sokka mimed punching fire, and Zuko shook his head.

“Agni hasn’t woken yet.” Zuko scowled at the still-dark horizon, like it’d wronged him personally. “The logs are temporary, don’t worry.”

“I know the logs are temporary.” Sokka scoffed under his breath, pushing the spare sticks on the bench to the side. “That’s what fire does to wood.” Zuko made a weird, strangled coughing sound, and Sokka stood up, pointing accusingly. “That's a laugh! You’ve done that since the beginning! You’ve always found me funny.” 

A bit of light peeked above the horizon; Zuko immediately blasted flames into the metal cage, and Sokka’s eyes fastened to the way it twisted and glittered. Normal flames don’t do that . “So what?” He sounded defensive .

“Is that why you decided to join us?” Sokka sat back down on the bench and ran his finger across the wooden grain. Not so smart, using wood in a contraption powered by fire . “Because of my devastating good looks and charm?”

“I have a girlfriend.” 

“No, I’m not hitting on you, man, I—” Sokka stopped when he saw the slight smile that curled across the visible part of Zuko’s face, heard the quiet choking in the other boy’s throat. He was laughing at Sokka. “Oh, man, you’re a dick .” The word felt light and airy, and Sokka laughed. “Oh, it's nice to have another guy my age. Dick!” Sokka yelled at the vast ocean beneath them and to the tendrils of light curling around the horizon. He whistled. “So, girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” As the Sun rose higher, the colours swirling in Zuko’s flame grew brighter, vibrant and full of life. Similarly, his eyes seemed to dance with imperceivable memories. “Mai.”

“No, the gloomy girl who sighs a lot?”

Zuko laughed, and this time it fell from his mouth without any attempt to strangle it. “Yeah. She’s amazing.” He blasted more fire into the cage and swung the metal door shut, leaning against the other side of the basket. His euphoria seemed to have faded. “Though, I guess she thinks I’m a traitor now. Of course, I am , but…”

Sokka crossed his arms and fell against the railing. “My first girlfriend turned into the moon.” He sympathised, and Zuko sucked some air through his teeth.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

At that, moods suitably ruined, they lapsed into silence, Sokka staring at the kaleidoscopic flames that swirled from Zuko’s palms. By the time night fell again, Sokka was still steadfastly watching the flame through the metal grate while Zuko slept, curled up on the wooden bench. Every thirty minutes, he’d shake the firebender awake, forcing Zuko to blast more flame into the cage, before letting him sleep again. As night had fallen, the colour in the flames had faded to near nothingness, and the fire was depressingly small. Firebenders are weaker at night, with the worst time being when Tui is exactly halfway through the sky . He mentally wrote down in his head. Keep an eye on Zuko if we have to fight during nighttime.

His entire mind froze, his inner monologue repeating the last thing it thought. Keep an eye on Zuko if we have to fight during nighttime. Keep an eye on Zuko if we have to fight. Keep an eye on Zuko.

When did he start considering Zuko not only an ally , but a teammate? And a teammate to be protected, on top of that?

Land appeared below them, and Sokka’s mouth moved while his mind raced.  “The Boiling Rock!” Immediately, Zuko jerked awake, swinging his head quickly, as if to analyse possible dangers. Finally, his movements relaxed, and he walked over to stand beside Sokka.

“There’s plenty of steam to keep us covered.” Zuko leaned further out of the balloon as they crossed the threshold of the volcano, and Sokka grasped the base of the firebender’s tunic. Why am I worried? Why am I worried ? I’m not his mother . “As long as we’re quiet, there shouldn’t be any issues.” As he finished his sentence, the balloon’s basket jerked beneath their feet, before beginning to turn downwards.

“Shit, Zuko, why’d you have to jinx it?!” Sokka ran to untie the heavy sandbags on the sides of the basket while the firebender smashed the cage door open and slammed heavy flames into it. Waves of heat rolled over Sokka, wet and warm, like he’d just crawled through the asscrack of Zuko’s Spirit… Angry, or some other ‘A’ name. The lightened weight of the balloon only seemed to lessen the slope of descent, but they were still diving towards the boiling waters within the volcano at literally neck-breaking speeds.

“We’re going down!” Zuko whispered, though the urgency in his voice made it sound like a scream. “The balloon’s not working anymore!”

“Well, no shit, Sherlock,” Sokka released the final sanbag and grasped the edge of the basket, trying to keep it steady with sheer willpower. Meanwhile, Zuko started blasting his weakened flames straight upwards into the balloon. “The air on the outside is just as hot as the air on the inside, so we can’t fly!”

By some miracle of fate, Zuko’s wild flames didn’t catch the balloon, and they somehow glided/crashed into the shores of the brison, barely able to grab their bags and scramble onto the beach right before the war balloon sank into the bubbling depths. “Well, that's a good sign. How are we meant to get off the island without a balloon?” Zuko said, as deadpan as always.

“The pros of having a sky bison.” Sokka sighed. “We’ll figure something out. Besides, I suspected this would be a one-way ticket.”

“You knew this would happen, and you wanted to come anyway ?”

Sokka shrugged, dusting the dirt off his pants. “Look, you did plenty of stuff that could’ve killed you while you hunted us, like when you followed those seal turtles into that cave in the North.”

“It worked , didn’t it?” Zuko said. “Besides, I knew they had to come up for air. Here, we don’t even know if it's possible to leave.”

“Zuko, seal turtles need air every thirty minutes. You , for all your stubbornness, need air every two . Just because it worked out doesn’t mean it was a better plan than this one.”

Zuko crossed his arms, and Sokka counted that as a win . “Uncle always said I didn’t think things through, but this? This is just crazy !”

“Hey, I never wanted you to come along in the first place!” Sokka strapped his sword to his hip for easier access. “And, for the record, I always think things through. That's my thing , Zuko! You shoot fire, I think ! But my plans sure as hell haven’t been working out so far, so I’m doing the same thing you did with Aang with the Sun Warriors… I’m taking a new angle. This time, I’m playing it by ear. And if that doesn’t work with you…”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Zuko asked, picking up his own swords and slinging them across his back. As he did so, his other hand patted a satchel on his hip, and his whole body relaxed. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Sokka, because I’ve never heard of anyone breaking into a prison.”

Sokka let out his own strangled laugh, so similar to Zuko’s. “Well, guess we’re going to be the first to break in and get out.”

————————————

There was the distinct clash of metal on metal, and vibrations shuddered through the door Zuko was leaning against. It was all going weirdly smoothly: they’d arrived, gotten uniforms, found Sokka’s girlfriend-or-maybe-ex… the only thing missing was the catalyst of this whole stupidity: Sokka’s father. The sound of mumbling slipped through the crack in the door, and Zuko had to force himself not to eavesdrop, instead thinking of his own girlfriend, not only in an entirely different country, but on an entirely different side of the war .

Zuko slipped his bare fingers under his uniform and rubbed the smooth wood of his Mask. As he did so, soft whispers filled his ears, and Zuko had to stop himself from flinching. That’s new. He couldn’t differentiate any of the voices, much less discern what they were saying, but there were at least ten, rambling over each other. Occasionally, they’d overlap and form a single name. “Blue Spirit”, they all whispered, before lapsing into their individual conversations again. Unsettled, but weirdly not unsurprised, Zuko removed his finger from the worn Mask. 

“Guard!” The tone immediately made Zuko’s feet shift together and his back straighten into a ready position, chin held high, while his hands formed fists at his sides. “I need to get into that cell. Make yourself useful elsewhere .”

Sweat crawled down Zuko’s spine, cold and nauseating compared to his overheating body. “My apologies, ma’am, but you cannot go in there. The…” He glanced inside the cell, avoiding the woman’s fierce eyes. “The lights are out! The prisoner could sneak up on you.”

“No?” The glint in the woman’s eyes was visible even through the visor, like a man with water within reach, but disallowed to drink. “Are you new? Step aside. Idiot.” She grabbed his shoulder to push him out of the way. Damnit, I give up on talking. Zuko had been trained on action first, and his entire being needed to act on it. On instinct ground into him, he grabbed the woman’s wrist and wrenched her into the wall, the loud clang of metal ringing through the long hallways. C’mon, Sokka, get out of there… “The hell are you doing?” The woman twisted her own wrist and grabbed Zuko, switching places to slam him, instead, into the metal cell door. Fuck it .

Zuko loosened his legs and dropped to the floor, swiping out quickly with his ankle to knock the woman to the ground. He wrestled to try and pin her before hearing the door behind him squeak open. Thank Agni. He couldn’t see Sokka, not with the damned masks restricting his already-deterioriated vision on his left side, but at least he knew the Water Tribe boy was gone .

“Hey! Guard! Help!” The woman screamed. “I think he’s an impostor! Arrest him!” Sokka looked Zuko in the eyes, and Zuko discreetly nodded. Knock her out, we’ll stow her in a cell .

Sokka nodded back and strode forward, grasping Zuko’s arms and slamming him into the ground. “Ack!” Zuko’s helmet offered no chin protection, and his jaw snapped shut as his face hit the ground, nearly causing him to bit off his own tongue. The world darkened for a moment, so reminiscent of when Zhao killed Tui, and by the time he came to, he was being pulled to his feet by Sokka. Blood dripped down the front of his uniform, not so out of place against the red cloth, and Zuko hissed. “This was not the plan.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out,” Sokka whispered, the voice muffled by the helmet covering Zuko’s ears.

Agni, Sokka’s plan of having no plan was quite possibly the worst plan Zuko had ever been a part of, and he’d been leading a ship since he was thirteen, so there had been some stupid plans.

It took all of half a day of returning to Fire Nation lands for Zuko to get shoved in a jail cell.

He wondered how long it would take for his father to plan his execution .

Chapter Text

One could be proud of a few things when working as a warden, and, for most, it was a choice between them. But, for the warden of the Capital City Prison, accurately nicknamed the Boiling Rock by all prisoners and some Fire citizens, he had established the Holy Trifecta of warden pride: complacency, discipline, and inescapability.

Once, it was the Holy Quadfecta, with impenetrability added to the list, but his newest prisoner had ruined that reputation. If this had happened with any other prisoner, the warden would be frantically wringing his fingers and composing new letters of his unfortunate demise to his immediate family members, but, considering the circumstances, his head would—hopefully—remain attached to his shoulders; after all, he had captured the Fire Lord’s traitor, the ex-Crown Prince.

An ex-royal who was now sitting in a too-small, uncomfortable metal chair in a dingy cell, steam rising from the damp, yet ever-boiling floors. An ex-royal who was dressed in ratty brown clothes—if they could be called that—and defensively curling over his abdomen. An ex-royal who had just , days ago, left his niece alone and unwanted in her bedroom, with not even a spoken goodbye .

Oh, yes. The warden was very proud of his discipline and very happy to use it today. The metal door squeaked as he pulled it open, but that was just how he liked it: prisoners knowing he was coming, but there was nothing they could do about it.

“Well, well, well.” He paused before he spoke, because that was the key . The couple of seconds where they wished for mercy . “I never thought I’d find you in here, Prince Zuko.”

The boy, because he was only a boy now, flinched, eyes widening. It was only then that the warden could see the film of white that had settled over his scarred eye. “How did you know who I am?”

“How could I not?” The warden raised an eyebrow and began to walk to the boy’s left side, quirking his lips as the ex-Prince tried to discreetly turn to see him better. Eyesight’s not entirely gone… but certainly fucked. The warden prided himself on knowing these things. One could consider him a doctor of moral diseases, and a doctor had to know his patient. “You broke my niece’s heart.” 

“You’re Mai’s uncle? How is she?” The boy’s face wilted, as if melting into his chin. “I never meant to hurt her.”

Moral diseases, indeed . “Yes, well, you’re my special prisoner now, so you can count yourself lucky. You get some… extra attention. I know that’s something you princes—sorry, ex-princes —like.” The boy’s face turned red, and his single eyebrow pinched. As he shifted, the warden could see something tugging at the shirt’s fabric. Now, the warden turned to the door, where a set of guards stood at attention. “Guards. Who examined this prisoner?”

A young boy stepped forward, probably a year younger than Zuko. “I did, sir.”

“And did you pat him down? Watch him put his clothes back on?”

The young guard paused, face paling as the warden moved closer. “No, sir.”

“So, you find it acceptable to leave possible weapons with the prisoner while I interrogate them, is that it?” The boy shook his head. “Answer me!” The warden slammed his hand into the wall, thick rings sending ringing noises throughout the cell.

“N-no, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”

“No, it won’t.” The warden gestured for the guard next to the stupid one to step forward. “Take him to the cell next to the barracks. I’ll deal with him later.” The young guard, finally smartening up, did not scream or wail, though a single tear did drip out of the base of his helmet. The warden turned away, looking at Zuko. “Now, why don’t we see what you’re hiding under there?”

————————————

There is also something to be said about a survival instinct. Zuko, as Mai’s uncle moved closer to grab his Mask, did not say anything. He sat in the metal chair, clenched his metal-bound wrists, and waited. He hadn’t seen metal handcuffs before. Most of the time he was slammed in rope ones and told that if he bended, he’d be in for “a world of hurt” . It was stupid, of course, because every time he just burned through the rope and attacked the perpetrators for being so presumptuous as to think they could keep the Fire Prince captive.

He wasn’t the Fire Prince, though. Not anymore. And he wasn’t in flammable restraints, and he wasn’t in a random Earth Kingdom forest with his uncle nearby to save him when things inevitably went bad. Instead, he was trapped in a sour-smelling room with a sour-smelling man about to take the only thing stopping Zuko from winking out of this sour-smelling existence .

As the warden’s hand clutched Zuko’s shirt, his Mask whispered to him, pushing not-words into his soul. “Not him, not him. Fight, fight, not him, not him.” Zuko slammed his legs into the warden’s stomach as hard as he could and, when the warden buckled over with a gasp, he smashed his knee upwards. With barely a glance at the red streams twisting from the man’s nose, Zuko stood and slammed at the gap between the guards, tumbling through the door. “Good, good. Untrustworthy, untrustworthy.” The Mask whispered as Zuko sprang up and began to sprint.

Something must be said about need even in scenarios where that need is unfulfillable. For Zuko, that need was escape, that need was freedom. “Fire is freedom.” The dragon’s rainbow flames had whispered to him, but Zuko didn’t feel free . Air was freedom, too, according to Uncle, but maybe there were different styles of freedom. Airbenders were free of attachment, firebenders were free of reliance. Where waterbenders needed water, firebenders just needed their hands. So, though the Fire Nation was as free as a canary in a golden cage, waiting outside a coal mine, they were, Zuko supposed, free of reliance and restraint. 

Sokka is still on shift, probably loitering near that girl’s—Suki?—cell. Agni, he’d never been so grateful for his time on his ship as now. For three years, he’d had to memorise schedules, and it was finally paying off. The sound of footsteps slamming into the floor followed him, weighed down by heavy armour, so different from his own silent ones. Zuko quickly turned down a small hallway, drawing away from his assailants. There.

A shorter guard stood in the same spot where Zuko had been arrested just thirty minutes ago, the distinctive darker skin of the Southern Water Tribes noticeable under the helmet he wore. Sokka looked up, staring at him with widened eyes, as Zuko purposefully smashed into them, knocking both to the floor. “What are you doing?” Sokka whispered harshly, pushing Zuko off as he fumbled to yank the Mask out from under his shirt, hands still chained together. As he pressed it into Sokka’s chest, the Water Tribe boy gasped. “The Blue Spirit mask…? How did—”

“Hide this, do you understand? Don’t let anyone find it. This is important, Sokka.” Zuko could feel his hands pooling with sweat as he watched Sokka shove the Mask down his own shirt. What am I doing? This is my only tie to the world. What am I doing? “If anyone—”

“I’ll keep it safe, Zuko.” The boy said, and Zuko could feel his connection to the mortal world weakening as he stood and sprinted down the next hallway, away from the warden and his guards. Every step felt heavier emotionally and lighter physically, until he felt like a shrivelled autumn leaf drifting away on the winds. Fifty metres . He remembered from his experiments at the Royal Palace. If he wished to remain physical, he was bound to the Mask like a baby by its umbilical cord. The moment I leave the area around it… His body seemed to drop off the edge of the world and disappear, and Zuko tripped, smashing his not-real nose into the floor. 

Thankfully, blood was a mortal concept, but that didn’t stop Zuko from wiping at his nose with now-unchained hands and expecting a smear of red. Why did I give him my Mask? There must’ve been other options, better options.

There hadn’t been, but that didn’t stop the regret .

Zuko stalked back to the intersection with the other hallway and (unnecessarily) peeked around the corner, where Sokka was leaning against the wall in a clear attempt to be nonchalant. Protectiveness and need for his Mask washed over Zuko, entirely unreasonable , logically, but so justified to Zuko’s soul, which felt like it’d been halved. He was now Zuko, the dead soul, like a captain without his boat.

Zuko kicked the wall, soundlessly, trying to remove his frustrations before moving on. Yes, Fire was the freedom from physical reliance, but that didn’t mean Zuko didn’t rely on having a physical form.

“Zuko? Is that you?” Sokka whispered, eyes scanning the empty hallway. “Come out, the guards aren’t here.”

How did he hear me?

“Come out . ” His Mask whispered into his soul, and Zuko could feel a tug, similar to what he’d felt when Kaiya was in danger. “Come out come out come out come out—” The words sped up, repeating until they were just a vibration in his chi, a song plucked into the strings of his Inner Fire. “COME OUT.” The final command was loud enough that Zuko’s ears rang, and he stumbled forward, like his soul was the rope in a tug-of-war battle that he’d just lost.

Zuko didn’t lose when it came to stubbornness.

Zuko growled, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the ground soundlessly, his hands now unchained in front of him. Speaking wouldn’t help him, because he wasn’t visible , not until he found a way to get his mask back. I feel like a parasite without its host… Though maybe that was less accurate… it wasn’t parasitism as much as commensalism . The Mask was only alive in that it possessed a part of Zuko , and, as such, Zuko was the only one that benefited.

Commensalism: a symbiotic relationship in which one organism benefits and the other neither benefits nor suffers. Zuko tapped his fingers on his thigh, where he would usually tap his Mask. Maybe father was right, I did spend too much time in the Fire Sages’ libraries.

“The Warden went by. It’s fine.” Sokka said. What an odd thing to say to yourself. “Are you the Blue Spirit?”

Zuko flinched and looked up. “What?” He spoke, even though he knew , he knew, Sokka was only speaking to himself.

But the boy’s blue eyes were fixated on Zuko, even watching him as Zuko paced.

“Are you the Blue Spirit?” Sokka asked again, haltingly, enunciating each word as if Zuko was a moron.

You can’t see me. Zuko thought, peering curiously at him. Even if you could , I wouldn’t answer. However, the Mask thought otherwise.

“Answer him.” The Mask whispered, more a compellment than an ask. “Answer him. Answer.” The push was so sudden that Zuko’s tongue was moving before he could resist. “Yes.” Sokka blinked, as if unexpecting of such a forthcoming answer, and Zuko was similarly shocked. What the— “Obviously, since I just shoved the Agni-damned Mask in your hands.”

What Sokka didn’t know, is that Zuko meant ‘ yes, I am a Spirit’ , when Sokka had asked ‘ are you a vigilante? ’

“Well, I don’t know, maybe you’re secretly part of a Blue Spirit Fanclub.” Sokka laughed, a loud sound that made the metal halls vibrate. “Why?”

Zuko scowled, but there was no reverberation in his soul to answer.

Sokka shifted his weight side to side. “Right. What’s the plan?”

“I thought the plan was no plan.” Zuko scowled. “And that's going wonderfully , by the way.” Pause. “Honestly, I was thinking I could sneak into the warden’s office, maybe? We could get some information for Aang. My father won’t give crucial information to the warden, but there will be small updates, or maybe other locations that your father was placed at.”

“It would be nice to have something to show Katara and Aang when we get back.” Sokka rubbed at the few scraggly hairs on his chin, which he’d shown very proudly to Katara the other night. “But if you get caught, that's it. I don’t know if it’s worth it… After all, looking for my dad did end with you imprisoned…”

“Listen. Listen listen listen. Agree agree agree.” His Mask whispered into his mind, inaudible but completely understandable, in the way that one could recognise a smile as joy and a raised eyebrow as scepticism. Something tugged in him again, and Zuko nodded without thinking.

Wait. Zuko froze, but that tug persisted . What am I doing?  

Fine, Zuko could admit it was a reasonable concern, but why did he immediately agree ? Why….

The Mask. 

Fuck, the Mask.

The realisation set in, an innate knowledge that must have been branded into his soul when he became a Spirit. Zuko glanced at Sokka, where he was leaning against the wall, rubbing his hand over his shirt lackadaisically. That Mask was the other half of him , the other portion of his soul, and it was now in the possession of another.

Another who could see Zuko, even when no one else could. Another who could, apparently, push Zuko around with a single word, like his uncle pushing his pai sho tiles across the board. Another with complete control , something Zuko had fought against for years, as was his nature.

Fire was the element of freedom, and here Zuko was, chained.

“It will be fine.” Zuko gritted out, the minor disagreement almost too much for him, his soul warring against the decision. “Trust me.” 

“Trust the guy that chased us across the world, that captured Aang and tried to give him to the Fire Lord?” The tone was teasing, the words were not.

“Trust the guy that went with Aang to meet the Sun Warriors and helped you break into the most secure prison in the world.”

Sokka pursed his lips, contemplating, before laughing. “Yeah, sounds good, Zuko. You trust me with your little mask, I’ll trust that you know what you’re doing.” Sokka did not emphasise the “M” in “Mask”, but Zuko could feel it, the hidden knowledge humming under his ribcage.

Zuko let out a breath. Now where is that damned warden…? He turned away, though his mind stayed firmly on Sokka’s hand on his Mask.

Sokka didn’t mention the way Zuko’s voice shook. He didn’t mention the way Zuko’s eyes were fixated on the Blue Spirit mask under Sokka’s shirt. He didn’t mention the way Zuko’s feet flitting across the floor, not a sound to be heard.

He didn’t mention any of it.

Chapter Text

The importance of “inescapability” to the Warden’s trifecta is paramount. It was what his entire reputation was based on.

His reputation, and the reputation of those that came before him.

So, with the ex-Prince’s capture somehow eluding him in the Warden’s own prison, and his niece’s arrival, annoyed with her missing traitorous boyfriend, one could excuse him for being a bit stressed. Maybe that was why he left Chit Sang in the cooler for a touch longer than necessary, or why he smiled so viciously as Chit Sang pointed out his ally among the guards.

It was definitely the reason he pushed the traitorous guard a tad too far, and had to toss a limp body into the boiling water of his prison.

Curing moral diseases . The Warden reminded himself, though his face folded into a sour snarl. The ex-Prince cannot run for long . He slammed his hand into the ashen grey of his desk, swiping viciously along the wooden grain before stopping at a stack of prisoner reports, where a familiar set of eyes stared at him, one scarred and glassy. Even in black and white, he could see the pale gold of his eyes, pure and taunting. “That damned Prince.”

The Warden did not say his name. He was too smart for that. Even disgraced, the royals walked at a height above him. Not once I capture him . A muffled laugh—that could’ve been a cough—blew through his lips. He stashed the ex-Prince’s file to the other side of his desk, and peered at a photo of his newest inmate; he was an arrogant sort, the type that any other warden would hate to have.

The Warden loved it. He loved to see them break , see their pride shrivel and their egos deflate. This man, the leader of the eclipse attack, the arrogant chief of the primitive Southern Water Tribe, would be his new favourite patient of the Boiling Rock.

A knock sounded, soft blue light shining under the door, and the Warden immediately moved to smooth his gelled hair. “Wait.” A hair out of place, a prisoner out of his cell . As his fingers swept through the pot of gel on his table, intent on swiping the flyaways into a severe bun, the door blasted open, blue flames searing into the frame. The pot fell to the floor, gel splattering across the metal floor with a searingly spicy smell.

“ Wait ?” The Warden raised his eyes to the crimson twist of the Princess’s lips, the sharp tilt of her eyes, the slick of her hair—not a strand out of place. “Now, that’s no way to speak to your Princess, is it?”

 Why is she here? It was only supposed to be Mai. Against his own will, the Warden could feel blood drain from his face. “No, your highness.”

“Maybe you got too used to speaking to my traitorous brother like that, hm?” She smiled, as bright as Mai’s daggers. 

“No, Princess.” The Warden bowed his head, partially to prove deference, partially to hide his reddening face.

She sighed, and he took the chance to look at her again. The Princess was studying her nails, something that his niece did excessively, analysing her red nail polish, so dark it might’ve been black. The Princess, however, had not a drop of colour on her pointed nails, though the Warden could imagine the enemy’s dark blood staining them, like the claws of a predator.  “I won’t discipline you for now, Warden. Not while you are in my father’s good graces.” Her hand froze as her eyes flicked up. “However, that could change if you don’t tell me where my brother is .” The Warden froze, and the Princess slowly moved towards him. “Your little guards were so useless . Not only useless, but nervous , which leads me to wonder…” Her hand darted up to clutch the fabric peaking out of his chest guard, and her sharp nails screeched on the metal. “If you lost him.”

————————————

“You’ve been avoiding meeting Suki,” Sokka spoke, eyeing the firebender across from him. “Any avoiding me when I’m not alone. Why?”

Zuko’s face darkened, completely shutting down. His hands began to shake, though he tucked his lips into his mouth.

But Sokka was right . Zuko practically sprinted in the other direction whenever Suki or Chit Sang came closer, but neither of them ever mentioned it. When Sokka had made a joke about the skittish firebender, he was met with a blank look and a soft “Who?” It had crossed over from antisocial to nonexistent. And when he’d mentioned Zuko’s name and family, the only thing that registered was awe from Chit Sang and fury from Suki… no curiosity as to why the ex-Prince of the Fire Nation was constantly running away from Sokka.

There was something odd there. Something odd in the way Zuko flitted across the floor, when he used to stomp after them, hands ablaze. Something odd in the way he shook and trembled every time Sokka asked him a question, every time Sokka called for him.

There was something in the way Zuko seemed to appear next to Sokka, just as Sokka thought of him. 

“I need my mask back,” Zuko said, hands trembling again like an addict’s. His face was pale—paler than usual, at least. Ordinarily, he would make a joke about firebenders, who rose with the sun, looking like they’d never been outside in their life, but that was washed away with his concern.

“What do you—”

“Look, your dad is here . We need to leave now, anyway, before news of me being here reaches my—” Zuko paused, and Sokka watched as his throat bobbed. “The Fire Lord finds out that I’m here. So I need my mask.”

Sokka blinked a few times, before squinting his eyes.

He wouldn’t go near anyone else, was shaky and nervous, attached to the mask hidden under Sokka’s disguise—fuck, Zuko was nervous. A small voice whispered in the back of his mind, barely noticeable. “Be a man. Women are relying on you… don’t snivel like that . ” Sokka breathed deeply, shutting his eyes for a moment. “Be a man.” It whispered again, quieter.

He could imagine it was Aang, instead, shaking with what could only be nerves. Imagined it was Aang, bleary-eyed, avoiding everyone. Imagined it was Aang, captured in the most secure Fire Nation prison, attempting to escape. Imagined how Katara would water-whip Sokka into smithereens if he even thought that in Aang’s direction.

Besides, in this scenario, it was more Sokka and Zuko relying on Suki , not the other way around.

The voice slowly faded into the background, and Sokka opened his eyes again, to see Zuko’s yellow eyes peering at him. Gingerly, Sokka pulled the worn blue mask from his shirt and held it out. “Okay. Just don’t get caught. I was talking to my dad—we’re going to start a riot.”

Zuko took the mask and pressed it to his forehead, an odd show of reverance. “I hate not having a plan.”

————————————

Eat. Sleep. Work. Eat. Sleep. Work. Eat sleep work. Eat sleep work eat sleep work eat sleep work eat sleep— Suki swallowed, her thoughts treading the same well-worn path they had since arriving at this Hell-on-Earth. Eat. Sleep. Work. 

The power of three, huh?

There was a fourth thing. Survive. She didn’t add that one into the cycle, though. That would imply that survival was not something innate to her, imply that she wasn’t always—if nothing else—a survivor.

And you needed to be a survivor, in here. You needed to be a survivor, a fighter. Because in a majority-male prison, in a place where firebender rage wasn’t invested in bending, sometimes people tried to invest their energy into other conquests.

They didn’t try with her. Not after she broke a man’s arm so badly that she, a non-bender, was put in the cooler for two days.

Eat. Sleep. Work. But, now? Now that Sokka arrived with an actual plan ? Something changed. It was no longer “ Eat. Sleep. Work .” but “ Escape. Escape. Escape. ”

“We need to start a riot.” Sokka spoke, and Suki snapped out of the sort-of-trance, her back immediately becoming rimrod straight. Her head wasn’t in it, not without proper food or sleep. Her head wasn’t in it, not without her makeup. Her head wasn’t in it, not without her sisters-in-arms.

She remained passive as Sokka’s father moved to cause chaos, and glanced over at the lanky firebender in front of her; not behind her—she didn’t trust him that much. He had the same face that she saw in her dreams: the same face that she’d dreamt of cutting with fans, beating with her fists, driving into the floor. 

“This isn’t working.” Sokka’s shoulders dipped, and Suki smiled lightly at the way he stared at the floor like a kicked puppy. Chit Sang slammed his hand onto Sokka’s shoulder, and Suki tensed, ready to lash out.

“You’re lucky I didn’t rat you out.” The moron said, and Suki’s lips twisted into a grimace. Escape. Escape. Escape. “But my generosity comes at a price. I know you’re planning another escape attempt, and I want in.”

“Actually, we’re trying to escape right now.” Sokka said, and Suki sighed. What an idiot… does he not remember last time? “We’re trying to start a riot. You wouldn’t happen to know how to start one, would you?”

“A prison riot? Please.” Chit Sang grabbed a smaller man by his ratty prison shirt, hefting the prisoner over his head and pumping him up and down like a warm-up weight. “Riot! Riot! Riot!”

“It cannot be that easy.” Suki murmured, watching as the crowd of inmates stirred.

It was that easy. 

She sprinted towards a metal wall, well out of the Warden’s sight, pushing rioting inmates out of her way. “Come, Sokka!” Suki called out as she weaved around two men wrestling on the ground. Obediently, the once-belligerant boy followed her, beckoning the three others to follow as well. As they lined up, backs to the wall, Sokka glanced at the Warden. 

“We’re all here. Now we just need to grab the Warden and get to the gondolas.”

The ex-Prince turned to face Sokka, eyes furrowed. Immediately, she flinched. Oh, Spirits, he looks like Ozai. He had the same high eyebrows, the pale skin, and yellow eyes. 

Escape. Escape. Escape. The mantra pulled her out it, and Suki narrowed her eyes. No. Scarred face, eyebags, tangled hair . This was someone Suki had fought and she had won .

Won, unlike her fight against the Fire Princess.

Suki spun away from the group, stomach twisting. Escape. Escape. Survive.

It was a bad sign that she needed to remind herself of that.

“How?” She could hear the gruff voice of the firebender, destroyed from smoke inhalation. She should know: enough of her sisters had destroyed their voices when pulling bodies from flaming houses. Flaming houses that he’d caused.

“I’m not sure.”

Oh Spirits. Suki turned her gaze upwards. She was not a religious person, but sometimes Sokka made her consider joining a convent. This is why I only work with women. As the ex-Prince growled, Suki flung herself into the fray of bodies, clambered up two grappling prisoners and launched herself off their shaved heads. As her feet slammed into skulls, she fixed her eyes on the Warden. Escape .

Digging her fingers into the seams of the metal walls, she scrambled upwards towards the Warden. This was her thing . This had always been her thing.

A younger version of herself, scuttling up the statue of Avatar Kyoshi that stood in the middle of the village as the rest of the junior Kyoshi Warriors tittered and screamed happily. It was only once she’d perched on Kyoshi’s arm, fingers clenching the carved fans, that the older Kyoshi Warriors noticed her. They’d started yelling, but Suki couldn’t hear them, so she stood and continued to pull herself upwards until she sat on the Avatar’s carved head, just large enough for her to sit cross-legged. She’d leaned against the gold-painted crown, content, while the senior Kyoshi Warriors, shouted from the base of the statue. 

That pride paled in comparison to the feeling of grasping the Warden’s stupid, gelled hair, gagging him with his ugly headpiece, and tying his arms together. “Sorry, Warden.” She smiled as he mumbled and strained against the gag. “You’re my prisoner now.”

Chapter Text

There was beauty in everything, even in this dismal prison, with its suffocating metal walls and acrid air. There was a devastating, ethereal beauty in the way the inmates’ auras fluttered and wisped through the air, like circus performers looking for their absent family in the crowd.

Even in this place, designed to drain humanity’s affections, two guards looked longingly at each other, in the way their chi reached for one another and intermingled in a passionate dance. Even in this place, where numbness reigned supreme, tendrils of suppressed heartache drooped and settled into the corners, like the starved rhino lions that Azula once sent for Ty Lee’s act.

A Water Tribe man leaned out of the window, two braids swinging wildly with the gondola as he pointed towards Ty Lee and Azula. She smiled, popping up and down on her tiptoes. This part of the act… this was all Ty Lee. It was so much like her performances: standing on top of a platform and waiting for the crowd’s energy to surge in anticipation.

In the same way, she waited, watching as fear and stress stewed in the energies of the gondola, until the real-not-real auras squiggled and spiked into oblivion. 

Yes, this was the one thing she taught Azula… the art of performance .

Ty Lee wasn’t stupid . She knew that, to Azula, friendship was transactional. When Azula offered fame and royalty, she also expected skill and loyalty in return. She expected to give and get, a sort of push and pull. 

Push and pull.

Sometimes, Ty Lee thought that Azula might be more suited to the Water Tribes. She gave and she got, she was fluid as water but as sharp as ice. ‘Hot’ or ‘warm’ were not words that described Azula. It was at these times that Ty Lee did not speak, did not act, but instead observed the real , physical Azula, all calculation and sharp edges.

Most times, however, Ty Lee knew that the Fire Nation was the only place for Azula. Fire was power, and who was Azula if not power ? Power in strength, power in class, power in fear. There was a reason that Ty Lee liked to be with Azula. Though her visage was so cold and calculating, Azula’s Inner Fire was so immense and so hot that Ty Lee could feel the heat in her bones. It was an entrancing feeling, like setting a bomb just to bathe in its light.

What was that saying? “The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth”? Ty Lee was that child, at times, committing atrocious, violent acts just to feel Azula’s Flame on her own soul.

Because that was the curse of her condition, wasn’t it? She could see everyone’s aura, understand their movements and tics, but she would always be empty of her own. Azula filled that, and that was why it was transactional. Ty Lee passed over her puppet-of-a-body, and Azula poured flame into Ty Lee’s existence.

Maybe that was why she kept coming back, a moth to a flame.

Azula’s heat flared, and Ty Lee narrowed her eyes, looking into the gondola. There was something odd there. Something small but dangerous and, whatever it was, she did not want to test it. “Azula—”

Azula turned to grab a pair of handcuffs off the guard, before sprinting towards the gondola line. This is a bad idea… You never perform with someone new. Regardless, Ty Lee jumped onto the edge of the large gazebo before running across the line towards the monstrous, distorted aura. As she flipped onto the moving platform, pain stabbed into her head, so potent that a whine slipped from her lips.

Spirits, help me . She couldn’t close her eyes, couldn’t move from the performance. That was how mistakes happened. That was how people died. She couldn’t even see who was under the aura, so potent was the energy.

How could she describe it? How could she describe something that she had never seen, but could feel nonetheless?

It was not a doused fire, it was not boiling water. It was some unholy combination of the two elements, with all the power of a flame and all the fluidity of a stream. It was so small, so seemingly unassuming, but there was such a concentration of chi that it seemed impossible. If there was one thing that she could make out from the vague multicoloured pillar of twisting fire, water, and steam, it would be a blue mask with tiny white pointed horns and grinning crooked teeth.

The Blue Spirit is a vigilante. The myths are nothing more than fairytales that Earth citizens tell their children.

But she knew she was wrong.

The Blue Spirit, identity unknown, turned its attention onto Azula, and Ty Lee had to breathe a sigh of relief. The blinding light finally subsided, and she could focus on the Kyoshi Warrior, naked of her makeup.

She would not admit failure. Not here.

Spirits, help Azula. Ty Lee whispered, lips barely moving, and she lunged to attack.

————————————

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Hakoda thought towards the ex-Fire Prince, facing down the Crown Fire Princess. The boy was drowning in raggedy prison clothes, but he was still Ozai’s son, and Hakoda couldn’t forget that.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. He thought again, towards his only son, who stood behind the Fire Lord’s firstborn. Who would’ve thought that his proud son would be protected by a damned ashmaker ?

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Hakoda repeated towards himself, for the third and final time, as he clung to the side of the gondola as backup .

The Fire Princess slashed a scythe of blue flame across the floor, to which the ex-Fire Prince slammed down a shield of multi-coloured flames. Hakoda bit back a gasp, and the Princess seemed to do much of the same, her bronze eyes just widening slightly. Who the fuck is he? No. Better question. What is he? 

 “Aww, Zuzu learned a new technique?” The Fire Princess spoke, though her mouth was tight and jealous. ‘Zuzu’ snarled, smoke streaming from his mouth, and he whipped a ball of normal, red flame at the Princess, who smirked. She shot another burst of blue flames at the ex-Prince, and he dispersed it with his forearms before firing his kaleidoscopic flame again.

As if well-practised, Sokka closely followed the ex-Prince’s flame and withdrew a long, black sword. A Fire Nation weapon? With a slash at the Princess’s throat, his son withdrew quickly to hide behind ‘Zuzu’ again. 

So they aren’t just forced to work together… they’re battle partners . Hakoda’s eyes widened. And not only was his son working with the ex-Fire Prince, but he was fighting with Fire weapons.

Hakoda had smiled fondly at the ten-year-old crouched beside him, hair pulled back into a wolf tail. Sokka’s brow was pinched into a look of deep concentration, one that was never seen outside of hunting and mock-fights.

They’d been following a polar leopard for days, shooting at it whenever it stopped to rest, and it’d gotten so exhausted that it could hardly fight as the father and son quickly—and painlessly—killed it. Hakoda and Sokka sat side by side, the last night before they’d return home with the animal.

“When I’m older, I’ll be the best hunter in the village.” Sokka had declared, out of nowhere, and Hakoda chuckled.

“Only if I’m not still here.”

“Don’t say that!” Sokka had exclaimed, bunching his hands into his lap. “You wouldn’t leave us.” His son looked up at Hakoda with big eyes.

“Of course not.”

“But when I am the best, I’m going to hunt all by myself.” Sokka had nodded sharply. “Because the best is the best.”

Hakoda had shaken his head. “It's important to always have someone else with you when hunting. What if something had gone wrong today? I would need you to go get help.” Hakoda rubbed Sokka’s head. “Besides, your hunting partner will also be the best. That’s how it works.”

Hakoda stared at Sokka and the ex-Fire Prince, working in tandem. There is no way that they’ve only really known each other for a few weeks. As he furrowed his brow, footsteps sounded across the gondola, and he glanced inside. “Cut the line!” The Warden screamed, desperation scratching at his voice, like a cat at a cage. Almost immediately, the gondola halted and swayed, and Hakoda had to grab the railing to avoid death-by-boiling. 

Sokka did not grab the railing. “Help!” His proud son shouted, and Hakoda instinctively reached out, even though he was perched on the window of the gondola, entirely unable to help. Sokka’s nails screeched against the metal, and Hakoda growled, panic throbbing through his bones.

Kya, burned to an unrecognisable husk. Katara, just five, hunted for being the last Southern waterbender. 

And now Sokka, boiled alive to save Hakoda, and there was nothing he could do.  

But the Fire Prince could. Thankfully, stupidly, ‘Zuzu’ turned his back to the Fire Princess, grabbing Sokka’s wrist before Sokka flew off the gondola. The boy growled and puffed smoke as he dug in his heels, and Sokka scrambled up onto the shaking platform. “Thank you, Zuko,” Sokka whispered, barely loud enough for Hakoda to hear. Zuko just nodded.

This didn’t absolve the Fire Nation of its sins. It didn’t make up for all the fear and distress the Fire Prince had caused his children. 

It did, however, endear Zuko to Hakoda. Zuko, the boy in oversized clothes. Zuko, the child soldier. Zuko, the firebender who saved the Water Tribe’s son.

Zuko pulled further from the edge, before shouting. “They’re cutting the line!” 

————————————

If there were one rule to live by, it would be that people are confusing. One look at Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee’s friendship would confirm this fact; a calculating Azula plus a brooding Mai plus a bubbly Ty Lee should be a recipe for disaster, but it worked . 

Mai had watched through narrowed eyes as Ty Lee, optimism and overexcitement personified, attached herself to Azula. “Come practice with me!” The girl exclaimed, doing a cartwheel to demonstrate. They were at the age where random acts of physical exertion was not only allowed, but expected. “Come on!”

Azula scoffed. “No way.” Ty Lee had pouted, but ran towards the grassy field behind the school anyway. At this, Mai rose, seeing her chance.

The night before, her politician-father—and it was always ‘politician-father’, because ‘politician’ came first—had asked her to become friends with Azula. Now, whether her father saw it as a way to get close to the Fire Lord himself or whether it was to improve Mai’s reputation, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Mai agreed, and she had been waiting for the human incarnation of sunshine to leave.

Mai was not going to talk to the Princess. That was not how Azula worked. Mai had been watching the Princess for days, and her casual cruelty made it clear enough that friendship was transactional. Even at that age, Mai had known that, though perhaps not in so many words.

Instead, Mai was going to prove that she had something worthy to provide. For a long five minutes, she threw tiny knives, called stilettos, at the leaves of a tree, until it was entirely naked of any greenery. Once she’d started throwing at the bark of the tree, Azula stopped her. “Knife-thrower?”

“Princess Azula,” Mai whispered, because she was not apathetic at that age, but shy, almost embarrassingly so. But that wouldn’t do. Not for a Princess’ companion. Now, she strengthened her voice, though kept it bare of any intonation. “I’m Mai.”

“Mai.” Azula decided, and, just like that, Mai was Azula’s friend.

And, just like that, Mai was Ty Lee’s friend.

And just like that, the world’s biggest paradoxical friendship emerged, and it did nothing to answer Mai’s confusions about people.

Mai flung daggers at her uncle’s guards, pinning them to a wall. “What are you doing?”

Mai was not an exception to the rule of people and confusion. In fact, she may be the proof of the theory, all simple paradoxes and caring apathy. “Saving the jerk who dumped me.”

Saving the asshole and throwing away her two closest friends. In every stiletto that pinned a guard, every droplet of fallen blood, she could see Azula, laughing as Zuko and Mai fell into the damned fountain; she could imagine Ty Lee tiptoing across the rope held by Ursa and Zuko, as thick as the gondola line.

She didn’t care. She didn’t not care.

It was only once Azula jumped down from the gondola that Mai stopped launching knives and slashing at exposed skin. 

Mai looked up at the tears beading Ty Lee’s eyes, at the fury in Azula’s. She looked into those eyes, and she felt no less confused. “Oops.”

Chapter Text

The Blue Spirit sat cross-legged, hands pressed together to make a flame with his index fingers and his thumbs; it was an imitation of the meditation he always made Aang do, but he wasn’t nearly as focused on mindfulness as the Air Nomad. The trees shuddered around him, and the Spirit shivered as the wind ruffled still-exposed hair.

In his mind’s eye, he could still see the Water Chief pulling Katara and Sokka into a rib-breaking hug, rubbing Aang’s bald head, holding up a fistbump to Toph (and immediately flushing). Maybe it was silly, but Zuko hadn’t been able to stay any longer, and so the Blue Spirit fled into the woods. And it was here, settled into the mulch, that the Spirit felt a pull , not unlike the one with his priestess. For now, though, he didn’t focus on it, just felt the push and pull of the Flame in his chest.

“Help…” A feminine voice whispered, it’s emotion so potent that the Spirit could almost feel the Kaiya’s breath travel across his ear. “Please, Blue Spirit, help us.” The tart taste of blueberries bloomed on his tongue, and smoke mingled in his nose; emotion filled the Blue Spirit’s chest, and he was standing before he knew what he was doing.

What am I doing? Zuko asked, the sleeping mortal’s voice quiet in a way it never was.

Our priestess needs us. The Blue Spirit replied, and the soul hummed understanding, too tired to question it. The Spirit pulled the hood of his training hood over his hair and unsheathed the dual dao. His Inner Fire burned, reaching out to trail watery fingers over his surroundings. 

The leaves beneath the Blue Spirit’s feet did not rustle or make a noise as he stalked towards his priestess’ attackers.

“Please, please, they are here. I am sorry I didn’t believe, but please.” Kaiya’s voice whispered again and again, and the embroidered bandana around the Blue Spirit’s wrist warmed. “Please please please please please—”

The soft begging did not stop. It did not stop when the Spirit began to smell smoke. It did not stop when the Spirit heard the harsh laughter and soft whimpers. It did not stop when the Spirit perched on a tree branch and peered at the gleeful Fire soldiers, sat upon their komodo rhinos. Slowly, the Spirit followed the pull at his energy, listening as his priestess’ pleading grew louder and louder, until he could hear her voice aloud and in his head. 

“You cannot destroy this shrine,” Kaiya spoke bravely, though her pleading could still be heard in the Spirit’s head. The Blue Spirit crouched behind a building and peeked around, to see his priestess standing strong in front of a small cave. Blue ribbons fluttered from the trees around it, and flowers—exactly like the ones that grew around him—bloomed around the entrance. “We have done nothing wrong.” 

“Agni is the only Spirit that has any authority here, priestess. ” The female soldier laughed, saying the word like an insult. “And where is your little Spirit now? Agni gave me fire, what did your ‘ Blue Spirit ’ do for you?”

“Please please please. Please, I need you. Please. I know I ask and ask and have not given you anything, but please . ” The Spirit moved to help, moved to save her, but paused. “Save my people. Save them. Please, save them . ”

The Spirit could not fault his priestess for being selfless , and so he moved away, trusting that she could handle herself. Her pleading did not stop when the Spirit drew the flames engulfing the houses closer to him—an act that should have been impossible. Her pleading did not stop when the Spirit grasped the toddlers and placed them under a massive tree, his finger to his Mask’s smile. Her pleading did not stop when he knocked a soldier to the ground, and pulled an elderly man from the rhino.

Now, with the fires doused, the Spirit tiptoed towards his shrine, following the pleas.

Now, with the villagers saved, he crept towards the now-three soldiers standing at the front of the cave.

Now, with only his priestess left, he watched as the male soldier, tall and large, smashed the hilt of his sword into Kaiya’s temple.

And it was here that her pleading stopped.

————————————

The soul, nestled within the body but completely without control, froze. “Save her.” He whispered insistently, staring at Kaiya’s crumpled form on the floor. “Save her save her save her. Save her, now!”

“No . ” The body whispered, all instinct without inhibitions. “Kill them.”

The soul paused, considering it. He hated them, oh, how he hated them. He wanted to melt their skin and sear their bones. He wanted to cook and boil and broil them until there was nothing left. But he couldn’t. He didn’t kill. He wouldn’t. “No! Save her! Don’t kill them.”

“Don’t kill them. Yet.” Pause. “Make them suffer suffer suffer suff—” The body had other priorities, and they were not focused on restraint. The soul resisted, pulling away with all his might.

“No.”

“Shh.” The body whispered. “This is my job.”

Pause.

Then…

“Fine. But save her.”

————————————

At a certain age, one becomes less of a person and more of a figure .

Kaiya’s grandmother was no exception. She had no name, other than “grandma” , no title other than “matriarch” . She, too, was once “Kaiya” , but nobody called her that anymore. There was no one her age left to call her that.

It was at some point that she, too, forgot her own name and only remembered herself as “grandma” . It was at some point that she, too, erased her own identity.

She was not “Kaiya the healer” or “Kaiya the nuisance” or “Kaiya the wise” . She was “grandma” or, for the particularly bratty children, “old woman” .

It is for this reason that the first thing out of her mouth when seeing the other villagers was, “Where is my granddaughter?” She did not ask for treatment for her burns, she did not wail or cry or stand shellshocked. The old woman asked about her namesake, and the villagers seemed to not only understand that, but expect it.

“Grandma?” A small toddler tugged at her skirt. He was entirely unrelated to her, but called her “grandma” nonetheless. “What is that?”

What she saw was not something that could be named , only described. Long tentacles of kaleidoscopic flames whipped into the air, waving and slamming and slashing. They did not burn the woods, they did not touch the buildings, but their mere presence was enough for the old woman to gasp. “We need to go.” A few of the villagers looked up, but most were either crying or staring at the whipping arms of fire. 

Then the screaming started.

“You need to go !” The old woman shouted. She handed the toddler off to his mother, and pointed the group towards the forest. Without checking to see if they obeyed, Kaiya’s grandmother turned towards the village and began to walk towards the whipping flames.

Heat slashed through her clothes as she moved closer, and her heart thudded erratically. Everything told her that she shouldn’t be there, that she should be running with the rest of the village, but she needed to save Kaiya.

It was her duty, her purpose, her identity. Because she was no longer Kaiya, but Kaiya’s grandmother.

“Spirits.” The old woman stared at her granddaughter, crumpled at the feet of the Blue Spirit, as long tentacles of multicoloured flame slashed at the three Fire Nation solders around them. The fabric beneath the metal armour and burned away, bits of cloth stuck to their red, charred skin. One soldier, a woman, dove behind one of the houses and began to sprint into the woods, but the tongue of fire corralled her back into the battle.

This was not survival. This was…

Revenge . The old woman realised, staring at the bruise forming on Kaiya’s forehead with an indent similar to the Fire Nation insignia. The priestess’s hand reached towards the shrine, her empty hand limp and muddy.

All of the soldiers’ helms were gone, and burns marred their faces. Some small part of her grinned and bathed in the fear of their oppressors, but one glance at the Blue Spirit’s priestess—her granddaughter—vanquished it.

“Blue Spirit!” The old woman shouted, trying on the same tone she used for misbehaving children. The Spirit paused, its flames disappearing. At that, the Fire Nation soldiers stumbled away, sobbing and coughing as they crawled into the forest surrounding the village. Well, that’s a shame . 

The Spirit tilted its head, looking at her eerily, before sheathing its dual dao and kneeling to pick up Kaiya. As it cradled its priestess to its chest, small blue flowers bloomed in her hair, which the priestess had previously named essecarula flowers, or esses.

“Thank you for saving my granddaughter.” She spoke carefully now. “Please, let me give you a gift.”

The Spirit tilted its head the other way, before raising its finger to point at her. 

The old woman shivered, though she remembered that this Spirit, at least, was not interested in human prizes. “I am not the gift, Spirit. Please do not take me.” She spoke, a small smile on her face.

The Spirit shook its head and pointed again, shrugging—as if in curiosity.

“Who am I?” Kaiya’s grandmother tried, and the Spirit nodded. “I am Kaiya’s grandmother.”

The Spirit shook its head, circling its pointed finger in a ‘try again’ motion. Before she could stop herself, she sighed in annoyance.

“I am Kaiya’s grandmother, and the matriarch of this village.” The old woman said, but the Spirit was shaking its head again, and she growled. “It's not my fault that you don’t like it!” The Spirit stared at her apathetically, still cradling its priestess. “I am Kaiya’s grandmother, the matriarch of this village! I am the sole wisewoman! I am the teacher, the healer, the leader!” The Spirit shrugged carelessly, and anger broiled in her stomach. “I am Kaiya! You asked me who I was, and now you don’t care?”

The Spirit paused before flipping its hand over, essecarula flowers blooming in its palm. “I care,” it seemed to say, even without words. Tentatively, she took the bundle of leaves, flowers and vines, which continued to grow and bloom in her hands.

“I am Kaiya,” Kaiya repeated, looking up at her namesake, who was cradled in the Blue Spirit’s arms. 

————————————

The Mask lay heavy on the floor, and Zuko kneeled in front of it. 

His people. His people, burned by his hands. His people.

The screams and smell of burning flesh hovered at the forefront of his mind, and he tried not to remember his own father burning him. He tried not to remember how much more heat and time it takes to burn a firebender. 

“Bad people. People who burned a village, people who tried to kill your priestess. “People” is a loose term for them.” The Mask whispered into his mind. It had been doing that more often. Zuko didn’t know if that should scare him. “They aren’t dead. You were merciful. And they will never do that again.”

It was little comfort. “You would’ve killed them. I would’ve killed them.”

The Mask did not reply, and Zuko pushed his hands into the dirt, avoiding its manic grin.

Strong. Stay strong, Zuko. Strong. Flowers—essecarula flowers, Kaiya had said—bloomed beneath his fingers, and he fell backwards. It isn’t natural.

But it was . Spirits were the purest form of nature . 

He hadn’t minded. He’d come to terms with it, he’d been comforted in the fact that, though a Spirit, he was still himself.

But he wasn’t. Not really. 

But maybe he was. He’d burned villages, before. He’d stabbed Fire Nation soldiers to save the Avatar, had stolen and pillaged and threatened under the guise of the Mask.

Hands shaking, Zuko pulled the locket from around his neck. Unlike Kaiya’s embroidery, which came and went with the Mask, the locket had not disappeared when he took off his persona. Kaiya Sr. had taken her wooden locket, a gift from her husband, and dyed it with the juice from his essecarula flowers. It had taken a few hours or so, of which he’d wisped through the village, helping to tidy up after his rage and the soldiers’ rampage. Oddly, the villagers hadn’t even seemed annoyed with his fiery outburst, just tilting their heads in reverence. A little boy, the one he had dragged from the fire, grabbed onto his leg when the Spirit had walked by, and he ruffled the boy’s hair before going to sit inside his cave shrine. The shrine was simple and modest, with small paintings of the Blue Spirit of varying skill levels. Bowls of blueberries sat inside, and small blue ribbons fluttered around aimlessly. In other words, it was perfect. Once Kaiya Sr. dropped the locket in the Spirit’s hand with a thank you, he’d bowed wordlessly and disappeared into the forest.

Even now, staring at the blue-stained locket, he didn’t know why he’d wanted an offering. It wasn’t like he needed a necklace, but something in his Inner Fire insisted that he take something. Maybe it was to be polite, soothe their fears and ensure the villagers that they were in no debt. Maybe it was a memory, though that was less likely.

Regardless, he’d treasure it. Treasure the love that was poured into it, treasure the sentimentality. Probing at the sides, Zuko popped the locket open and looked at the younger version of Kaiya Sr., who was smiling mischievously in some sort of school uniform, looking at someone out of frame. He could practically taste the trouble she’d caused, could imagine the teacher scolding her from behind the camera. A soft smile curled across his lips, for all his insistence that he “never smiled”, and it almost made the entire venture worth it.

Because he had helped the village, though he’d hurt his people.

But maybe it wasn’t a failure. Maybe it was more of… a learning opportunity. Just as he couldn’t give the Blue Spirit half of himself full control, maybe he couldn’t give his mortal half total control either.

He was both, after all, not half-mortal nor half-Spirit.

This was something he kept coming back to. Two steps forward, one step back.

He was synthesising. Two reactants—not two halves—coming together to make a product. Two beings coming together to make another larger being. Just as Kaiya Sr. could be matriarch and person, he could be Spirit and mortal.

“I am Zuko.” The Blue Spirit whispered, so similar to Kaiya Sr.’s statement.

“I am the Blue Spirit,” Zuko repeated, and he draped the locket over his neck again.

Chapter Text

When Aang was about six, the most important rule of his bedtime stories was to never disrespect nor trust the Spirits. Most of them, in the last six to one hundred years, disappeared from memory, a fact that was never far from Aang’s guilty conscience. However, there was one story that was seared into his mind, but he never spoke it, for fear of it dissipating in the air.

It goes like this.

An Air nomad spent many years of her life learning the ancient Airbending forms. By the age of eight, she had mastered all the basics of Airbending. By the age of eleven, she had perfected the skills required of a master. By the time she’d reached adulthood, she’d deciphered half of the Southern Air Temple’s archives, written in dead languages, with topics ranging from the beginning of the world to forgotten Airbending forms. The Air nomad unlocked a wealth of knowledge for the rest of the nomads, and she was given the highly esteemed title of “Librarian”.

She was not the youngest Airbending master, though she had learned it all before Aang. For the Librarian, though blessed with determination and hope, was not blessed with bending. 

Originally, she was satisfied with just the knowledge. She wanted to help the rest of the temple, and she believed that the only way to do so was to master the Airbending forms, to decipher the unreadable texts. And, for those eighteen years, she was happy .

But one day, sitting on the balcony of her beloved library, the Librarian watched laughing kids on gliders that she would never be able to use. She looked at the rope ladders she’d had to install to get from point A to point B in a temple that was not designed for a nonbender like her. Not for the first time, jealousy brewed in her energy. Though she had earned the most honoured title of the Temple, she bitterly wished that she had the abilities of the youngest, smallest Airbenders.

“I deserve to fly.” She spoke to the skies, but she did not realise that the Sun had eyes and the clouds had ears. 

And, so, a small bird flittered to the handrail that she’d installed on the balcony, a protection against falling. *You do deserve to fly.* The bird chirped, but she heard the words clearly in her head.

“But I was not blessed with it.” The Librarian said, voice wavering as she gestured to the library. “I have made my purpose here.” 

*Made your purpose, yes, but could you not be more effective if you could actually bend, Librarian?* The bird fluttered to land on her shoulder. *Could you not learn more, teach more… be more?* The Librarian nodded, and the bird twittered a laugh. *My name is not important, but I can help you. Just follow me, little Librarian.*

The bird flew towards the door, which opened as it got closer, until it was fully open and the bird entered.

The Librarian, for her credit, did pause.

But then she followed the bird through.

The world beyond the door was indescribable. It was a mesh of colours and sensations and concepts . The Librarian had to shut her eyes, but not before seeing the bird land on a branch-pillar-sacrificial table. “Please, help!” She pulled her hands to her eyes, and the bird twittered a laugh. 

“Do you want to fly?” The bird asked, and she could now hear it in her physical ears.

Her panic from the kaleidoscopic world stuttered. She kept her eyes shut, but moved her hands to her sides. “Yes.”

“Do you agree, then, to let me help you fly?”

“Yes. Please, I’ll be indebted to you.”

And the world disappeared.

That was it.

The ending changed based on who told it. Some monks said that she and the bird swapped bodies, and the Librarian could finally fly on feathered wings. In those cases, the warning was about clarity in wording. These stories emphasised that Spirits were good beings, though clueless of mortals’ true meaning, similar to a genie. For example, “I want to fly” meant becoming a bird with wings.

Other monks said that the Librarian did gain the ability to fly as a human, but was then an eternal servant to the Spirit. She had thanked the Spirit by saying that she was “indebted” , so the Spirit thought that servitude was part of the deal. These stories stated that Spirits were neutral beings: willing to help, but also willing to hurt, should the wording allow it.

One monk, though, mentioned the version that often plagued Aang’s mind. The Spirit, upon agreement, killed the Librarian and swallowed her soul. She “flew” when the Spirit flew, because she was trapped within the Spirit’s stomach. Forever. 

Zuko was a Spirit. Aang was twelve. And as certain as Aang was that Zuko was not going to eat Aang’s soul, Aang did not know how Spirit status altered a person’s self .

It’d been a week, now, since Roku had told him, and Aang was still wandering through life like a… well, like a spirit with a lowercase “s”. 

Zuko was a Spirit, Aang was the Avatar, and Appa was a sky bison. Facts of life, and yet two of those facts were simpler than the others.

Okay, maybe one was simpler. 

Was being Avatar—the bridge between worlds—that much different from being a Spirit, caught in the middle of some sort of interdimensional war? Maybe it was, if only for the fact that Aang knew he was a bridge… Zuko may not. 

Aang squinted his eyes at Zuko, who was meditating again . A tiny flame danced in his cupped hands, too small to see the many colours that Aang knew were there. 

No, Zuko would not eat his soul. But would Zuko turn him into a bird? Would Zuko trap him in servitude? Or would Zuko simply give him the ability to fly ?

“Uh, guys?” Sokka shook Aang’s shoulder, and Zuko sprang to his feet, staring at something behind Aang. Slowly, the airbender turned around to see a massive blimp slowly lowering, a familiar face smiling on top of it. “We’ve got company.” Aang moved his foot to send a strong gust of wind whistling through the half-closed window of Katara’s room; immediately, the waterbender ran out to join them, Toph following closely. 

“Azula.” Zuko snarled, stalking over to join the group (AKA the Gaang). Against his will, Aang flinched, and Katara glanced between him and Zuko with a murderous look. Quickly, Aang smiled—though a smile drawn on paper would be stronger—and looked towards Azula again. “What is she doing here?” Something flickered over Zuko’s face, less an emotion and more an object , but it flashed so fast that Aang couldn’t recognize it.

“What’s with those faces?!” The Fire Princess leaned over the railing and squished her brows together, a large smile on her face. “ Smile . After all, I’m about to celebrate becoming an only child!”

As Katara and Zuko both whipped out their respective elements, Aang shot himself up to the higher tiers of the temple, where the others were staying. Immediately, he could see Chief Hakoda’s face peering out the window, and Aang perched on the ledge. “Chief! Grab the others. We need to leave.” The Chief stared at him for a moment, and stress frayed at Aang’s ordinarily calm nerves. “Now!” As Aang dropped from the ledge, Toph began to bend a large tunnel, just big enough for Appa. The sky bison seemed to recognize the connotations as Aang did, and let out a loud bellow. Immediately, feeling a tug that necessitated intervention, Aang reached the ground and sprinted towards Sokka, trying to coax Appa underground. “Appa won’t go.”

“But—”

“Appa won’t go underground.” Aang glanced behind him. Zuko seemed to be aware of the discussion, and stared at the tunnel while Katara sent spouts of water at Azula.

“Aang, I’ll hold her off while you fly,” Zuko said. “It is the least I can do.”

“You—”

“This is a family matter.”

Aang paused. Zuko did not need to prove himself to Aang. Yes, maybe he had doubts, but there was one thing he was certain of: Zuko had more than paid his dues. He had trained Aang, saved Katara and Sokka’s father, and had found a place within the group. His new… status did not change his good deeds. 

Sokka and Toph seemed to be watching him closely, though Toph would certainly laugh at the notion of herself watching anything.

Would this request be filled in the way Aang wished? Would Aang escape/live/fly?

Azula was gaining ground behind him, and Katara had a limited water supply. Aang had to decide.

He swallowed.

“Okay.”

————————————

A Fire Princess did not cry. She did not frown unless it struck fear into its observers, and she did not dance with those beneath her. 

As such, she did not weep over Ty Lee and Mai, though it may seem like she did. If anything, the tears were performative. She was not sad. She was not .

She did not frown as she stared at the empty area around her, usually filled with Ty Lee’s gibbering and Mai’s sullen responses. If it seemed like she’d frowned , it was displeasure with her crew’s poor performance.

And now, she was not evenly-matched by her brother, who was sending searing rainbow flames at her with a fluidity and grace she had never seen in a firebender. If one understood, they’d know that she was playing with her prey, like a cat with a mouse.

Obviously.

She swung across the bar and slammed her feet down harshly, a torrent of blue flames blasting into the spot where Zuko just was . As the floor exploded, the Air Temple crumbled and crashed into the foggy abyss below it, and Azula’s face was stretched between a smile and a frown. But her brother sprinted across a falling pillar, leaping an impossible length towards her ship, and Azula’s face just had to settle into indifference.

As he fell through the air, flames whipped from his hands, slicing through the air towards Azula like those little swords Zuko used to like so much. 

Zuko, before his banishment but long after Father gave up on him, had sliced his dual dao through the air. As he moved from pose to pose, as fluid as any Water savage, pride filled his face, and he beamed at Azula. Younger Azula had scowled, eyeing the very un-Fire-Nation-like footwork.

“You know the only reason Father is allowing you to play with your little knives is because he’s given up on you?” She had said, instead of praise. “He would never allow me to stoop to a nonbender’s weapon.”

“You’re just jealous.” Zuko continued to practise his silly moves.

“Well, Master Piandao was the son of a successful firebending family, but he couldn’t bend. So he took up the swords.” Azula had tapped her chin performatively, the same way she’d once watched Ty Lee do. “Maybe Father is hoping you have a reasonable role model, considering how you’ve been losing every bending match to me.”

At that, the swords had fallen to his side, and Zuko sheathed them in favour of practising his bending. But later that night, through a crack in his door, Azula had seen him moving through swordfighting poses on his bedroom floor.

That was what was throwing Azula off, she realised. There were no strict firebending poses, no punching and kicking, no strength-driven bending. Zuko was using his swordfighting stances, a fluid dance of flashing steel that relied on many strikes over one powerful one. 

He was not controlling the flame, no, not like how Azula and Father did. He did not grasp Fire’s will and break it, forcing it to shoot .

His flames just writhed with him as he spun and waved his arms, like whipped.

Like water .

A ring of flames surrounded Zuko, tongues licking at his clothes but not daring to burn, as he lashed out with searing tentacles of fire. Azula sent an explosion at her own feet and blasted into the air, and Zuko’s serpentine flames reached for her, stopping just an arm’s length away.

Oh. Oh no, Zuzu. Your little waterbending trick has a distance limit. And, unfortunately for you, I don’t do limits. Azula sent another blast of fire to direct herself outside his radius and grinned. “Come and get me, Zuzu.” He whipped a tentacle of flame towards her, but it froze right before her nose. Immediately, he began to sprint and Azula punched large blasts of blue fire into him, sending him closer to the edge. Quickly, Zuko changed course, sprinting straight at her and dispersing blasts of flame with his hands. As he ran, now close enough to whip his serpentine flame at her, Azula threw a wave of flame at him.

There was silence, for a second, but she began to charge up power into her fist anyway. 

Zuko sliced through the flames and lunged forward with a punch, slamming into Azula’s fist.

The explosion reverberated through Azula, her ears ringing as smoke stung her eyes and her body soaring through the air like a puppet with its strings cut. She couldn’t see Zuko. She couldn’t see anyone.

Help. Her mind whispered, reaching for her jailed, disloyal, traitorous friends.

They weren’t there.

Help. It repeated, searching for her absent, disloyal, traitorous brother.

He wasn’t there. 

It was just Azula, falling through the sky.

It was just Azula, wrenching her pin from her hair.

It was just Azula, sending out flames from her feet.

It was just Azula, hanging from the cliffside, smiling a practised smile as her brother fled on the Avatar’s sky bison.

He really is a traitor .

Chapter Text

Everyone was laughing.

Zuko had made some stupid joke about chasing them, and everyone was laughing .

Even Suki’s shoulders were shaking in silent amusement. Suki, who had been a warrior against the Fire Nation since birth.Suki, whose village was burned down by Zuko and his soldiers. Suki, who was imprisoned in a Fire Nation prison because of Zuko’s family’s actions. 

Katara glared at the flames in front of her, spiking and moving in tandem with Zuko’s breaths. Sokka’s lips were moving as he made a toast, but the roar of water in her ears deafened his voice. Green tongues waved within the flame, as green as the crystal caves where Aang died . As green as the crystal caves where Zuko gruffly spoke of his scar and his family. As green as the crystal caves where she —not Aang, not Toph, not Sokka—became the first member of Team Avatar to trust Zuko.

The same green of those crystal caves, where Zuko betrayed her and walked towards Aang’s murderer.

In the Earth Kingdom, citizens often said that one could “turn over a new leaf”; in the Air Temples, they said that “the winds of change do not always blow East”. In the Southern Water Tribe, her grandmother would often say that there is “more to a glacier than what is above water”. But, unlike the new leaf or the direction of the wind, a glacier—no matter the amount of snowfall or erosion—would always contain some part of it’s core.

It would always be the same glacier.

Katara had seen what was under the water, and she had empathised. That was what she did. That was her job. But being kind did not mean being naive; Zuko had his chance. He squandered it. And Katara did not see why he should have a second one .

Did her mother have a second chance after she claimed to be the last waterbender? Was she allowed to explain herself?

No.

“I don’t deserve this,” Zuko said, smiling. All Katara could focus on was his pointed incisors, like those of a polar leopard. 

“Yeah.” Katara rubbed her forearm, fingers tracing the raised scars from a polar leopard bite, hidden under her arm wraps. “No kidding.” She stood and walked away, feeling the dew coating the grass shaking around her. Quiet. Katara commanded, and the water relaxed again.

“What’s up with her ?” Sokka asked, loudly, and Katara gritted her teeth. 

Quiet. She now commanded herself, consoling herself with thoughts of what she wished she could yell at him. 

Zuko mumbled something, his smoke-ruined voice distinct, but Katara was too far to hear it, which was probably a blessing in disguise.

Katara didn’t think she had enough restraint to stop herself from drowning him.

She only stopped walking once she’d reached the cliff’s edge, closing her eyes as the water beat at the rocky cliff. Her fingernails scraped at the rock beneath her, sharp edges scraping red lines into her skin. Louder . She told the water, and the water drowned out everything. It drowned out the strangled yell Katara pushed through gritted teeth, it drowned the voice telling her to stab her brother with cruel, unnecessary words, it drowned the child’s voice in her that cried for her mother.

Katara did not get angry, not like this. The only person that she held this rage for was the face in her dreams, burning her mother alive.

Finally, the water quieted and calmed, and the rage drained from her system. She tilted her head up to bask in the silvery light of Tui. “Thank you for the noise, La.” Katara whispered. “Thank you for the calm, Tui.”

She was, thankfully, not alone; the moon smiled and the waves crashed.

“This isn’t fair!” A familiar grating voice spoke, and Katara huffed.

She was, unfortunately, not alone; a childish boy was complaining about fairness in a world that his nation had dominated and destroyed. A prince, complaining about fairness. How funny . Katara shut her eyes, attempting to transcend into Tui instead of falling into these murderous urges.

Zuko seemed to move closer. “Everyone else seems to trust me now. What is it with you?”

Even Tui and La Themselves would not be able to stop the rage that crashed through Katara’s body, breaking on the pointed edges of misery. “Oh, everyone trusts you now?!” She spun to Zuko, clutching her hand to her chest. “I was the first person to trust you, remember? And you took that trust and squashed it under your pretentious fucking foot !” Katara did not swear, in the same way she did not get murderously enraged, but it looked like both things were out the window. “In Ba Sing Se?! Where you gave me your little sob story and then killed Aang?!” Her voice broke, Aang’s glassy eyes and limp body flashing through her memory.

Zuko breathed in sharply, flame glittering in his eyes, and Katara instinctually reached out for her water. Come. She commanded. But the firebender just breathed out forcefully, small sparks flying from his nose. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Hm. Maybe you could reconquer Ba Sing Se and save it from your psychopathic sister? Or rebuild my village? Or, I know, bring my mother back! ” She shoved Zuko’s shoulder and stomped towards the camp, but not before stopping and throwing one last sentence over her shoulder. “I know what you could do. Leave. I don’t care where you go, go to the damned Spirit World if you have to, but leave . You don’t belong here, Zuko.” She could see the firebender freeze, his hands rubbing his shirt. “You don’t belong.”

She was still mad when she stomped into her tent.

Still mad when she fell asleep.

Still mad when she woke up the next morning and saw Zuko sitting in front of her tent. Purple circles hung under his eyes, dark as Tui’s night, and his yellow eyes were dull and bloodshot. He sat limply, back curved downwards at such an angle that Aang would probably like to penguin sled down it.

“You look terrible,” Katara said, in lieu of a greeting.

“I waited out here all night,” Zuko replied, like she’d asked a question.

“Being a creep won’t make me like you.” Katara pulled a carved ivory comb—a gift from Gran Gran—and ran her fingers across the design. The etching was shaky from Gran Gran’s older age, but it was treasured all the same. Methodically, she ran the comb through her hair, both to brush out the knots and soothe herself.

“I know who killed your mother,” Zuko said matter-of-factly, and Katara’s hand froze. “And I’m going to help you find him.”

————————————

After Zuko ruined his surprise for Suki, one would think that the universe would take pity on him and give him one good day with no Fire Princess, no bending, no falling into floor-cracks. Maybe he’d even be able to take Suki on a date, teach her to fish. Sokka smiled, before reconsidering. Suki had grown up on an island. She would certainly know how to fish, and probably be better at it, since these were familiar species to her.

Regardless, it would be fun, even if (when) Suki kicked his ass. That was partially why he liked her so much. 

Yue had been soft and sweet, but there had been sharp edges to her. She’d wanted to choose when—and who—to marry, wanted to fight the Fire Nation, wanted to become chieftess in a community not made for her.

Suki, though incredibly different, still shared similar qualities. She’d kicked the ass of anyone that looked at her funny, she fought a ship of firebenders in a village of wood, she was the leader of the Kyoshi warriors. There really wasn’t much more you could ask from a woman.

Maybe he had a type.

Sokka’s knife cut cleanly through the wood in his hands, forming little flowers that would eventually be strung into a necklace. And here Sokka was yet again, carving a necklace for the woman he loved. This time it would be different.

It had to be.

Katara stomped by him, Zuko following behind like her security guard. As if my sister would ever need a guard. She’d hit me if she knew I even thought that. Pause. Maybe Zuko is her lady-in-waiting. Sokka coughed out a laugh as Katara spoke. “I need to borrow Appa.”

“Why, is it your turn for a little field trip with Zuko?” Aang asked, and Sokka recognised the slight sarcasm in his voice. I’ve taught you well, my pupil. “You can’t borrow Appa. He’s a living being .”

“Yes, it is.”

Aang froze, looking up seriously. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going to find the man that killed my mother.” Katara said, sternly, and Sokka’s hand slipped, nicking his finger. Beads of blood fell onto the wood, dying it a vibrant red, but Sokka couldn’t bring himself to care.

Sure, Katara had a bad habit of referring to their mother as her mother . Sure, it sometimes made Sokka feel like Cinderella’s ugly stepsister. But that was… new.

Zuko moved to stand a bit closer to Katara, firmly gripping the large bag on his back. “Sokka told me the story of what happened.” Shit! Sokka scrambled to his feet, going to stand beside Aang. “I know who did it, and I know how to find him.”

Sokka’s eyes widened. “I told you that to better understand Katara, not to go out on an execution expedition!” 

Aang ignored him. “And what do you think this will accomplish?”

Katara scoffed, smiling and shaking her head. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.” Sokka’s eyebrows pinched together, the words worming and sliming their way under his skin. 

“This isn’t about closure, Katara! You’re doing this for revenge. This won’t help. I promise you. It didn’t help when I attacked the sandbenders to save Appa, and it didn’t help when I entered the Avatar State after Monk Gyatso’s death!”

“Maybe that’s what I need, Aang!” Katara replied. “Maybe that is what he deserves .”

Aang stepped forward, hands held out imploringly. “You sound like Jet!”

“This is different! ” Katara slammed her hands down, and the morning dew shot away from her like bullets, narrowly avoiding Sokka. “Jet attacked the innocents! This man is a monster ! A murderer!”

Sokka’s breakfast rose in his throat, threatening to make a reappearance. “Katara, she was my mother too! But Aang is right. This won’t h—”

“Then you didn’t love her the way I did!” Katara shouted, and Sokka froze. Pins and needles danced along his arms, and his fingers turned cold; eyes stinging, he blinked furiously. 

“Katara…” He wasn’t oblivious to the way his voice faltered, the whine that reverberated through his throat. His face reddened, shame grappling with devastation, and his body seemed to go limp.

There was silence. Complete silence. The sounds of the waves had disappeared, the wind had halted, and the birds stopped twittering. For all it mattered to Sokka, the world may as well have disappeared. It was just him, with the face of his mother, and Katara, spitting image of their father.

Two weeks after their mother’s death, Chief Hakoda had not spoken to his children yet. It takes a village to raise a child, and the village had taken charge of its Chief’s children. Every night, Katara and Sokka had been sped off to a new person’s house, sat at a new dinner table, socialised with new children. Katara had still been refusing to enter Gran Gran’s home. It looked too much like the one where their mother died.

For the first time in two weeks, younger Sokka had snuck out in the middle of the night and returned home. The moment he’d walked into the tent, the sour smell of uncleanliness penetrated his nose. Rotting meat, body odor, and ashes intermingled, concentrated around his seated father.

When Chief Hakoda looked up and saw Sokka’s face, he didn’t say Sokka’s name.

He’d said, “ Kya ”.

Over the following years, before Chief Hakoda left to fight the Fire Nation, he’d occasionally called out Kya’s name when he meant Sokka . Sometimes it was in the early mornings, when Sokka shook him awake for hunting. Sometimes it was late at night, when their eyelids were heavy and minds drowsy. Sometimes it was during a party, the lights dark and crowds dense, when his father would see Sokka, and his eyes would light up, lips forming his wife’s name.

Every time, it took a few days for Hakoda to look Sokka in the eyes again.

Sokka had first thought it was from the guilt.

Then he’d realised that it was disappointment . Disappointment that Sokka wasn’t Kya.

And Sokka never would be. Because Katara took up the cleaning, Katara took up the parenting, Katara took up the bothering and hovering and worrying.

How cruel, that Sokka would look like his mother, Katara would act like her, and Hakoda would still miss her so.

Sokka sometimes considered that that was the real reason his father left to fight the Fire Nation.

Sokka blinked, and the world was real again, full of sounds and life. Aang was saying something, a proverb, but Sokka couldn’t focus. He just stared at Zuko’s widened, shocked eyes.

Sokka probably looked the same.

The world was moving, but Sokka was not. Katara was stomping away, but Sokka was still. Aang was sighing, and Sokka could not breathe.

Their mother’s death would rip another person from their family. Their mother, then their father, and now Katara.

Three birds with one stone.

Chapter Text

“This is it, Katara. Are you ready?”

How could she be ready? Ready, when this is a moment she’s dreamt of for years? Ready, when cleaning only forced her to remember scrubbing her mother’s ashes from the carpets? Ready, when bending only made her think of sending water into his lungs and letting him drown on land? How could she be ready for all of that to be ended in one moment?

Well, the answer seemed quite simple to her.

Don’t let it be over in just a moment.

She pulled her water-covered arms backwards before whipping them towards the metal door, smashing into it until it flew inwards with a horrible screech. Immediately, Zuko leapt in front of her, dispersing rapid blasts of flames. Move. Get out of the way. Katara whipped her hand upwards. Move him. She commanded the water under Zuko’s feet, and he slid to the side.

Now, she reached for the murderer .

Upon her notice, the water in his blood and cells sang to her, perking to attention as she clenched her hand into a fist. He moved to shoot flames at her. 

Still. She commanded the living water within the monster, and the man could not move. As he strained against her control, Katara’s lips quirked upwards. It was not a crime to kill an animal. Less so a murderous one. It was a mercy, that much was certain. 

As Katara clenched her fist tighter, the water within him began to twist, trying to wrench from her control. Still. Pain pierced through her hand as her nails cut her palm; blood dripped to the ground from her hand, from his ears, his nose, his mouth. Tears of blood ran down his face, a mockery of remorse , as his arms wrenched backwards with a sickening pop . “What’s—” Her mother’s murderer screamed as Katara pointed her hand downwards, her body following in something like a bow. He fell to his knees. “—happening to me?!”

She did not sense her water around her, no cool waves, no ripples. There was only blood, and urine, and fluid. It was in her, it was in Zuko, and it was in the monster . Everything was red . She could feel Zuko’s mouth about to open, then clamp shut again. He knew not to speak.

Good.

“Think of your raid on the Southern Water Tribe.” She spoke, voice calm and sweet as blood beaded from the monster’s pores. 

“I don’t—” The murderer spat blood onto the floor. The tears of blood mingled with salt , and Katara knew he was finally crying . “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please!”

“You don’t remember me?” She asked, tilting her head as she wrenched him into a kneeling position. Katara stalked closer, staring into the man’s dilated eyes. She could feel electric adrenaline coursing through both of their bodies, but for different reasons. Oh. “It’s not him.” Her hands fell, and the man fell with him. Tears beaded in her eyes, sharp and painful, but she could finally feel the ocean again, comforting her. “He’s—” Her voice broke. “He’s not the monster .”

“What?!” Zuko exclaimed, the first words he’d spoken since entering the room. “What do you mean he’s not?! He’s the leader of the Southern Raiders! It has to be him!”

Of course.

Of course, her hopes had risen, just to be dashed.

Of course, she’d yelled and hissed at Sokka, just to return with nothing to show for it.

Of course, Zuko was wrong .

Of course.

She turned to walk away, a droplet of water falling to hit the metal, bloody floor.

A slam echoed through the room, and Katara glanced back to where Zuko had the man pinned against a wall. Something fluttered on top of his face, a blue mask-like thing with horns, before disappearing again; something akin to fear stabbed through Katara’s stomach, like she was being bloodbended herself. Zuko pressed the curved sword to the man’s throat, and smoke rose from where the metal touched the man’s skin.

What is happening? She thought, but that wasn’t right. What she really meant was “what is he” , though not in that many words.

“If you are not the man we are looking for, who is?” Zuko growled, smoke furling from the cloth mask that covered half of his face. It was nothing like the horned one that Katara swore she saw . 

“Yon Rha! It’s Yon Rha!” The man shouted, somehow more afraid of Zuko with his swords than Katara with her bloodbending. “He retired four years ago.”

That was all Katara needed.

Against her own instincts, she turned her back to Zuko and stalked out the door.

————————————

Zuko’s mother had sat by his bed every night, a new book in hand. Usually, it was Love Amongst The Dragons, but before that, she had a little book of nursery rhymes.

“Three little monsters jumping on the bed.” She’d sung, horribly out of tune. “One fell off and bumped his head.” At this, she’d rubbed Zuko’s head, to bouts of laughter. “Mama called the doctor, and the doctor said, “No more monsters jumping on the bed!"”

Zuko, only three, had giggled. “What’s a monster?”

“A monster is something that hides under your bed and, when you leave the room, likes to jump on it and break it! ” Ursa had said, shaking younger Zuko, who had dissolved into uncontrollable laughter.

What is a monster? Zuko considered now, narrowing his eyes at Katara, who was watching Yon Rha. Well, a monster certainly wasn’t something that jumped on a bed.

Maybe it was someone who did bad deeds, but that would make every human a monster , Aang included. Everyone sinned in some way and, whether it be lies or murder, it was still a bad deed.

Perhaps it was someone without a moral compass. But, by that definition, General Zhao wasn’t a monster, because he’d had morals, misguided and fucked up as they were.

No. A monster was someone who hurt others, without remorse, for a self-serving goal. Whether that goal was pleasure or status, it did not matter. In this definition, monstrosity was not the absence of humanness, but the magnification of it.

The important distinction: with this definition, Aang, once he killed the Fire Lord, would not be a monster. It was not a self-serving goal, and his Air nature would make that death lethal to both the Fire Nation and to Aang.  

With that definition, however, three monsters were jumping on the bed in this story: himself, Yon Rha, and Katara . 

He didn’t want to think of Katara as a monster, but perhaps a monster was more so a temporary label . Katara was currently on a quest to kill someone for revenge—a self-serving goal—so she was—temporarily—a monster. Once it was over, though, she would be Katara the Innocent again.

But maybe it wasn’t a temporary label. Maybe it was a part of the paradox that made a human. Katara, the healer and the fighter. Zuko, the traitor and the loyal. Yon Rha, the murderer and—once Katara was done with him—the victim.

“Nobody sneaks up on me without getting burned!” Yon Rha shouted. For a moment, Zuko raised his hands to deflect the flames, but the former leader of the Southern Raiders shot his blast at a random bush, in the complete opposite direction of Katara and Zuko. It was not two seconds later that the older man tripped on the very obvious tripwire that Zuko had strung across the path. Leaping onto the path, Zuko smashed the flames right in front of Yon Rha’s face, and the man stumbled backwards.

“We weren’t behind the bush,” Zuko said, feeling distinctly foolish after the obvious statement. Zuko settled into a basic firebending stance, the threat so plain that even a child could read it. “And I wouldn’t try firebending again. I guarantee I am much better than you.” Yon Rha flinched, arm thrown over his eyes.

“Whoever you are, take my money, my food, whatever you want! I’ll cooperate!” His voice was nasally and soft, no audible damage from smoke inhalation; contrastingly, Zuko’s voice held the proof of years by his soldiers’ sides, scorched by wayward flames, hot air, and sizzling smoke. Zuko scoffed. This man, though the leader of the Southern Raiders, clearly did not take an extensive part in the actual raids . He probably showed up, took pleasure in slowly killing an innocent, and left.